Stay Close
by macgirlanon
Summary: (This is the first fanfic I ever wrote. I became pretty unhappy with it, so I stopped. Since I'm posting it on here I figured I could change the things I don't like about it. This does not necessarily follow the show.) Daryl rescues a strange woman with a secretive past, not realizing it could change him forever. Daryl X OC Marissa.
1. Chapter 1

**_Daryl_**

She's layin' there, lifeless. Short, labored breaths escape her blistered, bloodied lips. Black eye, clumps of blood matte her long, dark hair. Her olive skin seems vapid and washed out. She's probably been starved, probably dehydrated. I wonder what the hell they did to her. Her white t-shirt is caked with blood, dirt, and yellow sweat. Her legs are bare. Her wrists are bruised and raw from being bound, along with her ankles.

I went to Woodbury lookin' for revenge. I wanted to kill that sumbitch they call 'Governor.' He took my brother, my only blood I had left, from me. I had to put my own fuckin' brother down. Instead of findin' this 'Governor' I found her, in some makeshift dungeon. Her ankles and wrists tied with zip-ties, a blue bandana mufflin' her screams.

She probably thought I was one of the Governor's men sent to kill her, or worse. She fought so hard. When I tried to free her, she blacked out. I carried her outta there. I shouldn't of. One more person to worry 'bout. The old Daryl Dixon would have just kept on. But, I reckon it's a good thing I found her...I was so fuckin' mad, I wouldn't thinkin' straight. I probably would've got my fool neck broke if I woulda went after him myself.

Now here we are, alone in the woods. The low fire ain't keepin' neither one of us warm, but can't have too big a fire, it'll attract the walkers. I am so damn hungry, but can't risk leavin' the girl to hunt...she'd be walker bait for sure. I got my crossbow ready in case a deer or squirrel happen upon us.

I hope she wakes up soon, just in case the Governor's goons are on our trail.

I dunno how Rick's gonna feel about this. Me bringin' in a stranger. A stranger from Woodbury


	2. Chapter 2

_**Marissa**_

"Wake up, baby." I shake my sleeping 11-year-old. "Wake up, Grayson."

"What, Mom?" he asks with his hazel eyes still full of sleep.

"We have to leave Woodbury. Tonight." I whisper.

He's a good boy. Thank God he trusts me. He doesn't question why, or how. He just climbs out of bed and packs the few belongings he does have into a plastic grocery bag. I grab his hand and we travel downstairs from our 'apartment' which is really just a bedroom, no bathroom, no kitchen. Our 'home' is just an old general store with some spare rooms and storage space upstairs. I hear the Hamptons fighting in their apartment downstairs...almost thankful for it...whatever noise Grayson and I make may go unnoticed.

As we get to the bottom of the stairs and approach the front door, I peer through the dusty windows. "Shit," I think as I see Martinez and one of the other henchmen patrolling the grounds with their rifles. Grayson can see the worry of my face.

"Mom, can't we leave tomorrow?" Grayson's whipser shakes. He's nervous too.

"There may be no tomorrow for us, Gray." I say and pull him close to me.

He's almost as tall as I am. He's all I got left. My husband was a policeman. Now he's gone. For all I know, he could be out there with all the other biters. Walking around, directionless...eating on old deer carcasses...eating the living that may stumble across him.

In the panic of the outbreak, he tried to get me and Gray out alive. And he did. We travelled from Wilmington in his outdated Crown Vic police car, heading to Atlanta in hopes for refuge...the refuge the media and goverment promised would be waiting for us. One night in standstill traffic (so many folks had ran out of gas) on interstate 85, he was shot. Our belongings were stolen by a mob of panicked men and women. Grayson still wakes up some nights screaming for his dad. Never had I felt so helpless as a wife, as a mother, as a human. I remember throwing myself on my husband as he died. Holding my hand over the gunshot wound to his chest, begging him not to leave Grayson. But he did, right there, on the asphalt. I looked at the chaos around me. Mobs looting helpless vicitims, stealing their rations, if they had gas, they stole their cars. I could not waste time mourning, I had to get me and Grayson out there. I took the .40 caliber from Beau's holster, his keys, his wallet, I threw two of our duffel bags over my shoulder, and pulled my catatonic son away from his father's body. Drug him out into the woods.

We survived in the woods outside of Marietta for several weeks. Don't get me wrong, I'm smart. Graduated at the top of my class with my nursing degree...but I had no survival skills. No sense of direction. I was a bad aim. I depended more on my sweet boy that I should of. He was a Boy Scout, and he knew more about surviving out there than I did. And he was one hell of a marksman. He shot squirrels, birds, and deer from remarkable distances. Grayson was so strong and smart. I leaned on him more than I should. So many nights beside a dying fire I would sob myself sick, missing my husband, thinking of what we could have done differently. Missing our old life. Our house. Our Retriever-German Shepherd mix, Gordon. Our comfort. Our safety.

I'm not quite sure where we were when Martinez found us while out on a run for supplies. I thought for sure he was going to kill us. But he didn't, he promised to take us to safe place. A place with electricity, food, and water. And other people. Other children. Other widows and widowers. If I had known what truly awaited us, I would have gladly died.

Now, here I stand clenching my son's hand. Breathing hard. Hoping Martinez won't see us. As soon as Martinez and henchman #2 walk around the corner, I pull the door knob and look into Grayson's eyes. He knows to run. We bolt for it. We don't get far. Allen, a newbie henchman, grabs me out of nowhere. Allen's son Ben, who is maybe 16 or 17, grabs Grayson from behind by both his arms. They yell for Martinez and some guy they call "Nash." Sure enough both men come, guns ready.

"I thought you knew better, Marissa." Martinez lowers his rifle.

I don't speak.

"He told you what would happen if you tried to leave." Martinez reminds me, his eyes darker than usual.

"No, please, not Grayson...please, Martinez! You had a son...you know what it's like, please don't let me lose my boy!" I beg, my voice breaking with the tears.

Martinez looks almost remorseful, "Take the boy to the Governor. He'll go through training with the rest of the older boys." He assesses me. He sees my fear and pain. I can tell Martinez hates himself for it but he says it anyway, "Take her to the storage shelter behind the Governor's place. Make sure she can't get free."

Allen and Ben nod in unison and begin dragging me and Gray in opposite directions. Grayson is yelling for me, and I for him. All I can say is, "Just do what you're told, Gray...they can't kill you if you obey. For the love of God, don't be stupid!"

I can feel Allen's pistol at my back as he shoves me into a dark, cold, dank building. Allen isn't like Martinez; Martinez is just trying to survive... Allen is cruel and he enjoys being cruel. He slams the door closed behind us. The lighting is dim, but it looks like there is blood on the concrete floor. There are chains on the wall, chains hanging from the ceiling. It looks as if they were housing and feeding wild animals here. Keeping them captive. Then it occurs to me, biters have been in here.

Allen grabs my shoulder hard, and slams me face first into the splintered wooden wall. I feel like I'm being arrested as he pulls my arms back and zip-ties my wrists together. He spins me around, my back against the wall. I look at him like the disgusting waste of human life that he is, but I dare not speak. I dare not beg. I will not give this criten the pleasure. He just smiles in my face.

"You know, I'm treating you much better than the Gov will." He grabs my chin, hard...looking into my eyes. He then presses his face against mine, cheek to cheek. His patchy beard is rough. He smells like sweat and gasoline. His gruff voice in my ear says, "I know what the Governor wants with pretty girls like you. Like that girl from the prison..." He steps back from me, smiling.

He removes a disgusting, dirty navy blue bandana from his back pocket. I know he's going to try to shove that thing in my mouth.

"No!" I scream, and try to kick him right in the sack. I miss by a hair.

He jumps back, "Alright, girly...that's enough of that!" All I see is the butt of his gun aiming for my temple.

Bam. My head is pounding. I slide down the wall, feeling the rough wood scraping my back. I feel warmth running into my hair. I can only imagine it's my blood.

"Play nice, now...or next time I won't just be pistol-whipping ya." Allen mutters as he stoops down and begins to shimmy my blue jeans off.

"Please, don't rape me. Please, just kill me." I say. I said I wouldn't beg, but right now, I feel like giving up.

"Rape you? Me? God sakes, no. I'm taking these off so you can't use them for friction to get out of this, " he says as he crouches down at my feet, placing another zip-tie around my ankles. My head hurts so bad, I don't even try to stop him. "No biting, now," he says seriously, as he sits up and shoves that awful bandana in my mouth and ties it in a knot, along with a clump of my hair, around my head.

The taste is unbearable. Sweat, blood, dirt...I want to throw up. I wanted to throw up from the moment I got caught. The concrete is cold on my bare legs. I think about Grayson. I think about Beau. I wish Beau was here to save me.

"Governer's probably turned in for the night...who knows. I'd sleep with one eye open, just in case. I'm sure he'll be paying you a visit tomorrow." Allen says, walking towards the door. He turns back and looks at me one more time. He lips curl back into a smile. He steps out and carefully locks the door behind him.

Minutes pass like hours. Searing pain in my head. My wrisits and ankles burn as I try every way I can think of to get the zip-ties off. Soon, the first shred of daylight shines through from underneath the door. I see the shadows of two feet underneath the door just moments later. I know it's him. I know it's Phillip Blake. The Governor.

The door swings open. It's the henchman, Nash, from last night. He is older, maybe in his 60s. His hair is short and silver. He has deep crows feet petruding from his almond-shaped blue eyes. He is broad and tall. He is intimidating in his grey wifebeater and dirty camoflauge pants. He has faded Army tattoos on his forearms. His lips are pressed into a hard line.

"Alright, Marissa, is it?" He asks, standing in the doorway, crossing his arms.

I do not nod. I just glare at him. He closes the door. He walks over to me and squats so he is at my eye level.

"Well, girl. It's like this. The Governor wants those keys. Your husband's. We know the key to the police station is on it. We're running low on weapons and ammo. We're willing to travel to Carolinas and Tennessee in search of it. A war's brewing. Your help is required. So, just hand over the key. We'll send some boys out to Wilmington and retrieve weapons if there are any. It's simple." He smiled a crooked smile. He was missing a few bottom teeth.

Why didn't they understand? I don't know where the keys are. They were lost on our transport from outside of Marietta to Woodsbury. Probably in the woods somewhere. I don't know why I took the keys in the first place. Our house key, maybe. I guess I thought maybe one day we might go home.

He could read the answer in my eyes. For God sakes, my mouth was bound, I couldn't explain it to him. I could tell he knew I didn't know, believed I didn't know...but Nash believing me and Governor Phillip Blake believing me were two different things.

"Well, in that case...the Governor wanted me to give you this." Nash rose to his feet, and pulled me up in the process.

A fist to the eye. A fist to my jaw. Slammed back into that splintered wood. The world goes black.

This kind of abuse continues for a few days. Maybe 5 or 6, it's hard to keep up with day and night because I black out so much. Some days it was Nash, some days it was Allen, and sometimes it was men I never had seen before. Never the Governor himself, though. Coward. Such a damn coward.

By day 6 (or maybe 7), I'm pretty sure I'm dying. I haven't eaten or had anything to hydrate my bruised body. I can't keep my eyes open. The day passes so slow, but no man visits me. Not until sunset do I finally get a visitor. It's Milton Mamet. And he has water. And bread. Thank God.

He rushes to me and removes the bandana from my mouth. "Jesus," he whispers.

I'm too weak to speak.

"Another day or two, and you'd be a biter." He says.

He sits on his knees, he attempts to sit me up against the wall, I just slump over. He tries again by turning me around and placing my head in his lap.

"Drink, Marissa." He presses the glass of water against my lips. Nothing has ever tasted so good in my life. And the bread, it was a feast...when you're starving, even the stalest, crustiest bread is better than creme brule at that point.

I can only mutter one thing, "G-grayson?"

"Phillip is training him and some other boys. Turning them into ruthless killers." His head hangs, he pushes his fine rimmed glasses back up his nose.

I take comfort in that my boy is still alive.

My solace is interrupted by static. A walkie. Milton removes my head for his lap, and gently sits me up.

"Milton. You there? We have trouble." a voice says. The Governor.

Milton pulls the walkie from his back pocket, "Sir?"

"We have trouble. Merle Dixon returned. He took out several of our men."

"Merle? Did he escape?"

"No. I took care of him." The Governor does not explain how. "He killed Ben. Keep an eye on Allen. Make sure he does not leave. We can't have him fucking things up. Let me know his every move."

Milton stares at me, pulls the walkie back to his mouth, "Yes, Phillip."

"Oh, and Milton?"

"Sir?"

"Stop worrying about that girl. You're lucky I didn't kill you for setting my biters ablaze the other night."

Milton's eyes widen in fear.

"I know it was you, Milton. But, I like you. Now, get your ass out here and make yourself useful."

"Yes, sir." Milton says, and quickly puts the walkie back into his pocket.

"Why are you loyal to him?" I ask.

"Keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer." Milton smiles...it is so rare that he smiles. "Marissa, I would untie you, but...he'll kill me. I'm working on this mess. This...this Woodbury mess. This tyranny will be over soon, if I can help it." He places the bandana back in my mouth and ties it. "I'm sorry."

Miltons stands and dusts his khakis off. He takes several steps to the exit, and looks back at me. I hope he can see it in my eyes that I am saying, "Thank you." He nods, almost as if can hear my voice speaking those very words.

I drift in and out of sleep that night. My body aches from being tied up for so long. My arms ache. My head. Everything.

I'm not sure what time it is when I hear someone breaking the locks outside of the door. My heart leaps, hoping Milton has come to set me free. The door swings open and a dark figure appears. Not Milton. This figure is taller than Milton and he is armed, Milton was never openly armed. He switches on the dim light. I have never seen this man before. Must be a newbie henchman. He's probably in his late 30s, early 40s. Scruffy hair and facial hair. Dirty. Smelly. He's wearing a flannel with cut-off sleeves and grimy blue jeans. He has a crossbow aimed and ready. He hasn't noticed me over here in the corner yet. As soon as that thought goes through my mind, he does. He aims the crossbow right at me. I'm about to die.

My cries are muffled behind that filthy bandana, I want to die but I don't want to die. I'm at war with myself. I don't want to suffer anymore but I want to save my boy.

The man puts his finger to his lips, "Shhh." He inches closer to me.

I become frantic, I start crying and wiggling around like a helpless worm.

"Hush girl!" He whispers. He's standing right over me now. His crossbow is lowered. He looks me over. He stands in thought for a few seconds, then carefully swings his crossbow over his shoulder. He stoops down to me, and that's when the knife comes out. I'm going to die. I try to break myself free, but can't. My heart is racing. My ears are ringing.

I'm going to die. It's over now. 'Grayson, I love you.' I think to myself...hoping that in some miraculous way he can hear my voice in his head...but that's ridiculous.

The world goes black.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Daryl**_

The night drags on with my stomach growlin'. I can't sleep. I mean, I really can't sleep. The girl is still unconscious. There's nobody to keep watch. If a walker came along, we'd both be eaten. I could only assume it was about 4 or 5 in the morning, still no daylight, the fire was almost nothin' but smoke and ash.

I lay on my back just a few feet away from the girl. I wonder if she's as cold as I am. I'm sure she's got to be. I feel sorta bad. My flannel can't be too warm...but hell, I'm layin' here in my wifebeater. I guess when daylight breaks, I'll carry her for however many miles I can make. The prison shouldn't be too far by now. I wonder if the Governor has his goons out lookin' for her. There's a reason they beat her and tied her up like an old yard dog.

I close my eyes for just a moment, or what I think is a moment...and suddenly I feel the sun on my face. I sit up and stretch. The girl hasn't moved much during the night. I look her over. I can't get over the bruises and cuts she's covered in. ("Ya ain't never s'pose to hit a woman!" my grandaddy would say. He was probably the only decent man I ever had to look up to, and I'll be damned if he didn't die when I was 9). I find myself wonderin' about what color her eyes were. I think her eyes were brown. I can't remember.

"We gotta get going," I say outloud to myself.

I grab my crossbow and stomp out the embers left from the night's fire. I go over to the girl and prepare to scoop her up. I guess I can try to fireman-carry her a couple of miles. (God knows I carried Merle's drunk ass home plenty of nights. We were poor, and keeping a car wasn't the easiest for us Dixon boys). I put my right arm under her knees and go to put my left arm behind her shoulders, when she jolts up.

"Please! Don't hurt me! I don't have the keys!" She seems almost delirious. She's flailin' her arms and legs all over the place.

"Hey! Hey!" I say, blocking her swinging arms. "Lady! If ya ain't noticed, yer in the woods."

She stops and gathers herself, looking around. "Why? Why'd you bring me here? You gonna kill me?" Her voice is hoarse and raw, like she had been screaming for days.

"I came to Woodbury to find my brother...got there too late. I wanted to kill that one-eyed sumbitch...but I found you instead. I was gonna leave you there, but I couldn't."

I stand back up and switch my crossbow to my other shoulder.

She takes this into consideration, but she's doubtful. "So, you just saved me, out of the goodness of your heart?"

I don't know how to answer her, so I just...I just stand there and shrug.

She flattens the flannel shirt against her legs and looks at me, "Thank you." It sounds almost like a question, the way she says it.

I nod. My eyes divert to her legs. "If ya don't mind my askin', what'd they do to ya?"

"Beat me. Starved me."

"By the looks of it, I thought one of 'em mighta had..." I stopped.

"They didn't rape me. Besides, there are worse things. They have my son."

"You-you have a kid?"

"Grayson." Her voice trembles.

"So, was it just you, your kid, and your hus-" She stops me before the word can come out.

"He died on our way to Atlanta."

I don't know how to respond, I look down at my feet. A good minute passes by. "Why'd he take your boy?"

"Gray is 11. He's an incredible marksman. The Governor can use him, mold him into a perfect little soldier. He's preparing for war, I heard. Making an army. Something about a prison."

I feel a slight adrenaline rush flow through my veins. "Oh?"

"Yeah." Her eyes are downcast.

"Well, we ain't got much time. Plenty more miles to put behind us 'fore dark. I'm gonna take you to my group. We have refuge."

"Where?"

"The prison."

* * *

I feel bad for the girl. Walkin' through the woods for at least 2 miles now...shoeless, pantless, and weak. I have her arm draped over my shoulders and my arms around her waist. I am almost supporting this girl's body weight. This girl's. And it crosses my mind, I don't even know her name.

We are walking through some tall grass, "Be careful, um, er...?" I stutter.

"Marissa. Marissa Bolding." She says as she clenches her hand to my shoulder, grimacing as her bare feet scrape across the weeds and dry, dead grass.

"Daryl Dixon." I pull her up a little bit, supporting more of her weight.

"Merle Dixon, was he your brother?" Her sudden question makes me stop us dead in our tracks.

"Ya knew him?"

"No. I had seen him. Heard of him. But never met him." She holds my gaze for only a moment.

I think to myself, 'Good. At least she's one person that he didn't cause pain to.'

"He died a hero, I heard. He took out a lot of Phil- I mean, the Governor's men."

"I know." And I smile for the first time since...I can't remember when. She gives a small smile back.

Our mere second of solitude is interrupted by that old familiar sound. Walkers. There's about 6 of 'em...and me with only 3 arrows.

"What do we do?" Marissa asks frantically, she has both her arms around my shoulders, like she's about to leap into my arms or somethin'.

"You sit c'here," I ease her down to the ground and hand her an arrow. "Stab the geek through the head if one gets close to ya."

"What are you going to do with 2 arrows?"

"Lady, you really underestimate me."

One good thing about walkers is that they travel in herds, close together. Like packs of ravinous wolves. I aim just right and take out 2 walkers with one arrow. It plowed right through the head of some poxy bastard in coveralls and lodged right into the forehead of an obese female walker in a really bad tracksuit. I run over to retrieve my arrow when one of the geeks gets it's arms around me. I hear Marissa screaming. I take the arrow in my hand and stab the fucker right through the eye. It releases me and hits the ground hard. I load my crossbow quick as I can and run to Marissa in the high grass. I find her laying there, a dead geek in her lap...and arrow shoved right through the poor bastard's temple. She is shivering with it's blood on her hands and her bare legs. She is crying.

"Ain't no time to be cryin'!" I say, standing over her. Thank God I loaded my bow when I did...the remaining 3 walkers were approaching fast. I used both of my arrows. I got one right in the back of the head and the other again in the eye. The eyes were always the sweet spot...easy to penetrate. Marissa is sitting at my feet, I lean down and take my last arrow from the dead geek's head. I take the last walker down. Then I do something I hadn't done in a long time. I pull out my huntin' knife and cut off that dead bastard's ears. And I cut off Tracksuit's ears too. I used my bootlaces to fashion necklaces for me and Marissa.

"The scent will keep the walkers away from us." I lean down and hand it to her, and she reluctantly places it over her head.

I extend my hand to her. She looks up at me with tears in her eyes, fresh blood on her body, but grabs my hand anyway.

* * *

We were closer to the prison than I thought. We made it right as night fell.

"Carol! Carol! Hey!" I kick the fence.

"Who's that?" Glenn yells from the guard tower, his pistol aimed right for Marissa. Glenn, once the "nice guy" turned hard by the shithole world we live in. If Glenn's on watch, it must be later than I thought.

"Let us in, bro!" I yell.

"Who. Is. She? Why should I let another outsider in?" He asks sternly, pistol still aimed.

Marissa, still hanging onto me, her eyes are begging Glenn.

"I rescued her from Woodbury! She ain't no threat! Let us in!" My voice is angrier now. I kick the fence several times.

Glenn lowers his pistol, "Alright. But Rick is going to flip."

"Whatever, man. We ain't got all day, now open this damn gate!"

Glenn makes his way down from the tower and fumbles his key into the padlocks. We pass through the entrance and rid ourselves of our geek necklaces. We march halfway up the hill when Glenn cannot restrain from asking the obvious, "Miss, where's your pants?"

Marissa explains while we help her inside.

* * *

We make our way to Cell Block C.

"Hey guys, Daryl's brought in a stray!" Glenn says, almost jokingly...but I know he's not. After Rick chased off that black fella and his group of 4 (but one of 'em died here), I can only imagine what kind of argument is about to erupt. Rick has been a lil' "off" since the death of Lori.

Carol's on the loft folding laundry. Hershel and Maggie are sittin' on the stairs, Hershel with his Bible in hand. Beth is in a cell with Judith nuzzled to chest, softly hummin'. Michonne is sitting across the way, against the wall, looking hard as ever. Rick and Carl are rummaging through a bag of ammo. But they all stop. All starin' at us. Starin' at this pretty but broken woman hangin' onto me.

I speak first. "This here is Marissa. I helped her escape from Woodbury...they had her tied up like a wild animal." There eyes are unconvinced. "She knows things about Woodbury, about the Governor. She might can help us," I add.

Carol makes her way down the steps with some laundry in her hand, "You poor girl. What happened to you? Bruised...half naked-"

"I have a good idea, " Maggie interrupts, fire in her eyes.

Glenn hangs his head down. Rememberin' the time he and Maggie were once held captive by the Governor. Rememberin' what that sumbitch did to Maggie.

Rick is still assessing the situation. We all look at him. Look to him. He finally walks up, a hand placed on his chin, almost like he's inspectin' a new car as he looks her over.

"Name?" His blue eyes go over Marissa's blackened face.

"Marissa Bolding."

"Age?"

"29," Marissa cocks her head in confusion.

"And what did Marissa Bolding do before the world went to shit?" He asks. I see what he's doin'. He's determinin' how useful she will be to us.

"I...I was a nurse. I worked in a nursing home for years, and became a post-op nurse just a few months before the outbreak." She seems puzzled by the question, but Rick looks pleased. Somebody with experience caring for sick and injured humans. Very useful.

"And you know the Governor? How do we know this ain't a set-up?" He continues his interrogation.

Suddenly, Michonne rises up from her seated position, still leaning against the wall. She never makes eye contact with Marissa, only Rick. "I recognize her. She was all buddy-buddy with the Governor's right hand man, Milton."

"Is that so?" Rick looks from Michonne to Marissa.

"Yes. Milton was a doctor, not a _real_ doctor, but for all intents and purposes, he was. We worked side by side for a while. The Governor had us working on a cure."

"A cure?" Rick seems amused.

"Yeah, I didn't think and still don't think it's possible." Marissa says, but quickly speaks again before she can be interrupted with any more questions. "Look, you don't have to trust me, but please believe, I want what you want." She shifts her weight from her right leg to her left, but I continue to hold on to her. I can feel her knees buckling. She could collapse and be comatose again at any minute. She's so exhausted. Hungry. Dehydrated. This ain't no time for her to be arguin'.

"Which is?" Rick responds.

"The Governor dead."

"Why?" His blue eyes are tense.

"Is that your son?" Marissa nods her head towards Carl. "He's got your eyes."

"Yeah. My boy, Carl."

"You love him?"

"He and Judith (Rick motions his head over to the baby Beth is holding) are all I have." Rick rubs his fingers across his lips.

"The Governor has my boy. My boy is all I have." Marissa eyes look alive for the first time.

"I need to talk this over with the group. Daryl, put her in a cell until we decide." Rick commands. "Carol, get her some water and a can of food."

I walk her down to the last cell, hoping she won't be able to hear us. I ease her onto the cot. As I lay her down, her arms are still wrapped around my neck, "Thank you."

I just nod and ply her arms from around my neck. Carol is standing at the cell door with a glass of water and a can of English peas.

"It ain't caviar, but it's all we have for now." She says apologetically.

"It's okay, I'm more than grateful." Marissa responds, sitting up, welcoming the food and water with outstretched, tremblin' hands.

* * *

It feels like we deliberate over it forever. Mostly everyone is for letting Marissa stay. Rick remains apprehensive, though.

"She fucks up once, Daryl, once...she's gone." He says, pointing his finger at no one in particular.

"You'll need to teach her how to hold her own," Hershel chimes in. "She's been sheltered in Woodbury, might not have much survival skills."

"I can do that," I reply.

"I can help," Michonne adds. "I could see her disdain for the Governor when I saw her in Woodbury. The way she looked at him. And now he's got her kid. We could have the Governor dead in a month," Michonne smiles an ominous smile.

Carol stands up, rubbing her hands on her pants, "Well, let's get her some clean clothes. A shower. The poor girl, she's been through a lot."

"Daddy, maybe you could look her over? She looks like she could have breaks or fractures. Her bruises are so...so agonizing to look at." Beth says to Hershel. Beth was a kind soul.

"I suppose I could look her over...but she is a nurse...she may not want advice from an old, one-legged veterinarian," Hershel chuckles.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Marissa**_

I hate peas. God, I always hated peas. But I devour the whole can in seconds. I chug the water. I remember when Beau, Grayson, and I would go out for sushi every Wednesday night, Beau would joke, 'You're eating like you haven't ate in days!' I never imagined once I'd really know that feeling. Starvation. Weakness.

I sit by myself for a long time. The cot is almost welcoming compared to the cold concrete in Woodbury and the wet dirt in the woods. I lay there, thinking of Grayson. Thinking of my old life. Remembering back to when a triple bypass patient died on the table and came back to life minutes later. Remembering never being so scared in my life. I can faintly hear the chatter of the group, but I can't quite make out what everyone is saying. I lay back on the cot.

I turn on my side and face the blue concrete blocks on the wall. Still waiting, listening. I drift off into sleep...but all I see is that biter's face in my lap. I awaken with a start. That arrow going through it's head. I did that. Beau and Gray had done all the killing. I thought I would never had it in me. Never did. Now I wondered what would become of me. I now had an urge to kill. Not the undead...tbut he Governor. I wanted Phillip Blake dead.

"Um, Marissa?" a small voice asks. I hear the jingle of some keys.

I turn over and throw my legs off the cot, looking at a small blonde girl on the other side of the bars.

"Yes?"

"I'm Beth. I got you some clothes. I can show you where to shower, if you want to."

"That would be nice. Thank you." I nod at her with what I hope is a welcoming smile.

She unlocks the cell door and leads me down a long corridor to an open shower area.

She hands me a towel, a bar of soap, a clean moss green camisole and some black denim pants.

"You and Maggie look about the same size, I hope they fit. The water is a little on the cold side, but you get used to it." She smiles.

I can tell this girl is just a truly sweet person. I want to hug her almost, but I don't.

"Thank you, Beth. Really." I smile again what I hope is a welcoming smile.

We stand in silence for only a moment.

Beth smiles again and then leaves me to some privacy.

The water is dreadfully cold, but it feels so wonderful to be rid of that digusting white t-shirt. To be rid of the biter's blood. To be rid of my own dried up blood. The grime washes down the drain. If only our feelings could be washed away as easily as dirt and blood.

As I dry myself off, I realize Beth has taken the clothes I was wearing.

_My bra, my panties..good grief..._ I think to myself. I wrap myself up in the towel and step around the tiled wall.

"Beth? Hello?" I ask.

No answer.

_I really don't want to go commando around all these strangers._

"Beth?" I try again. No answer... I walk back around the tiled wall and decide to suck it up and 'fly free' so to speak when I hear footsteps.

I had just dropped the towel, when I say, "Oh, Beth I forgo-" as I turn around to see Daryl standing there.

His mouth is agape.

"Oh my God!" I squat down and immediately reclaim the towel and attempt to cover myself as Daryl quickly spins around.

"I-I'm sorry...I heard you calling'..I thought you needed help...or-or somethin'." His back facing me.

"Uh. I'm fine. It's okay. I can understand your concern. I-I mean, you did pretty much carry me for 5 miles today. I know you probably think I need constant supervision, but really, I'm feeling better now. Rejuvinated. I, I uh-"

"Okay." Daryl snaps quickly. "See ya um..er..see ya in the cell block." He abruptly walks away.

This is the most awkward moment of my life. I want to hide under a rock for the next week.

* * *

I walk back to the cell block with the group. Everyone is sitting pretty much where they were when I first entered their world. Carol is no longer doing laundry, she has baby Judith in her arms, swaying her from side to side. Glenn, Maggie, and Hershel are sitting close together on the stairs. Maggie's head resting on Glenn's shoulder. Hershel still reading his Bible. Rick and Carl sit a table, cleaning their guns. Michonne is laying still on a cot in her cell. Beth is also reading her Bible, humming 'Amazing Grace' to herself. It seems quite peaceful here, even if it was a prison.

"Where's Daryl?" I ask.

"On watch, " Maggie answers. "You're right, Beth. She is about my size." Maggie is assessing how I look in her wardrobe, she smiles.

Carol speaks loudly from the loft, "I'll wash the garments you came with tomorrow, if you'd like."

"I'd be more than happy to help, " I reply earnestly.

Rick pushes his seat back and rises from the table. "That won't be necessary. Tomorrow, Daryl's going to show you the ropes around here. We take take turns keeping watch. You need to feel confident with a weapon. As for now, tell me what you know about this Governor." He extends his hand, offering me a seat at the table. I oblige. Michonne joins us. The rest of the group stays back.

"What're his plans?" Rick is straightfoward.

"All I know is...he's preparing an army. Anybody who can aim and shoot. That's why he wanted my kid. He locked me up and had his minions beat me because he thought I had access to weapons."

"Why would you have access to weapons?" Rick's eyes are intense.

"My husband...my dead husband...he was a policeman. In Wilmington. I heard from one of the Governor's men that they're willing to travel to surrounding states in search of guns and ammo. I had my husband's keys...keys to the police station. They were hoping to find an arsenal. It's probably all gone by now, but who knows."

"I know firsthand that police stations ain't the easiest places to break into," Rick pulls a badge from his back pocket and hands it to me.

I run my fingers over the brass. Beau. All I could think of was Beau.

"Well, how many people does the Governor have?"

"Willing to fight...probably 30 or 40." I say.

Rick's look turns worried.

"I should've just turned myself over to him," Michonne breaks in.

I smile a sad smile, "You're the one who killed Penny. I saw you in Woodbury."

"She was already dead." Her dark eyes hold my gaze.

"Yes, I know. But to Phil-I mean, the Governor, she was just in a trance. Sick. Something. I don't know. I can promise you, even if you did turn yourself over to him, he'd still go to war. He'd still try to kill all of you."

Rick looked to Michonne, "That's what Merle told me."

"The Governor is a severely unhinged man. He has no humanity. He has been a brutal, guiltless prick from day one. He is the most manipulative human being you could be faced with. But, I truly believe, with the right planning, we all can walk away from this alive."

I notice as I am speaking I am brushing a tendril of my long hair across my chin...a nervous habit I have had since childhood. It dawns on me, I'm nervous. I'm flat out terrified. But at least I'm not alone. At least with these people I feel a miniscule surge of hope I may get Grayson back.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Daryl**_

It's been 'bout 6 weeks since I brought Marissa back to the prison. Been tryin' to teach her everythin' I know about huntin', about killin' walkers. But I know what she wants. She wants that Governor dead. We all do. But I think she does the most. She don't know it, but at night I check on her in her cell. If she ain't cryin', she's talkin' about her dead husband and lost son in her sleep.

As for me, as for sleep...I ain't gettin' any. I feel like such an ass for it, I feel awful and dirty for it, but every single time I close my eyes I see her standing there in that shower. Bruises. Cuts. A tattoo that goes up her side of an anchor and some lilies, and hell, she didn't look like the kinda gal that'd have a tattoo. I see her doe eyes wide and embarrassed. I see her reachin' for that towel. I can't stop. Spendin' all this time with her ain't helpin' any. Ever since I told Carol I could never be more than her friend, I haven't much thought about a woman. And here I am thinkin' about Marissa, all the damn time. A woman who probably sees me how most folks see me-a redneck. You can tell this girl grew up in the suburbs. She probably had a nice house and nice car. An education.

_I'm Daryl Fuckin' Dixon,_ I think to myself as I pull on my leather vest...I grab my crossbow and toss it over my shoulder. I had changed. The group changed me. The losses in our group changed me. Judith changed me. Even though I lost Merle, my only blood, for once in my life I have a real family.

* * *

Today, the weather is actually nice out. I take afternoon watch from mid-afternoon until nightfall. Marissa invites herself along with me to the guard tower. I'm going to try to teach her to take out some walkers from a pretty good distance. The walkers always crowd the prison fence when it's nice out. Waitin' for those poor dumb birds to fall, the ones that get caught in the barbed wire atop the 12 foot high fence.

She meets me right outside the cell block at the basketball court.

"Hey there," she says while walking up to me. She has a rifle strapped on her back. She's back in her white t-shirt, bloods stains faded, but visible, and some of Maggie's blue jeans.

"Hey," I say, tryin' not to sound enthusiastic.

"Well, you ready?"

"Yeah. I hope ya do better than ya did yesterday."

She looks down, "Yeah...I suck."

I smile even though I don't wanna. "Nah, you're hittin' 'em. Just not in the head."

"I know." Still lookin' down.

"Maybe we could try usin' different gun or somethin'..." I try to make her feel a little better.

"Teach me to use that crossbow," She looks up at me, squintin' to keep the sun out of her eyes.

"No...see, this here is mine-" I defensively pull the strap closer to my body.

"I don't want to take it from you. I just want to try it out. It looks fun."

"Fun!? Marissa, really? Fun?!" I almost want to laugh at her.

"Oh, c'mon." She smiles the biggest, cheesiest smile ever. Then I do laugh at her.

I hate it. She can make me laugh.

"Alright, Marissa. Alright. I'll teach ya. But if you fuck my bow up, then-"

"We're all fucked because you're Daryl Fucking Dixon." She grins.

"Stop that," I reluctantly smile back at her.

* * *

We get up to the guard tower. She removes her rifle and sets it on the patio corner.

"C'mere," I gesture her over with a nod of my head. I take her by her arms and stand her in front of me, her waist against the patio railings, facing out towards to openness around the prison fences. I reach around her with my bow in my hands. "This," I take her left hand and place it on the bow and do the same with the right, guiding her finger over the trigger, "is how you hold it." I say, lookin' straight ahead, tryin' not to stand too close.

"You know, everybody makes it out like you're such a hardass. A badass. But, I think you're...well, nice." She says looking over her shoulder. She is just inches from my face.

I loosen my grip over her hands, "I was. For a long time. I still can be. I thought I would harden more when the world ended...but these people changed me. I became the man they needed. The friend they needed. When Carol lost her little girl, I don't know, I really wanted to save that little girl. I wanted to save Dale. I wanted to save T-Dog. I wanted to save Merle..." I look away, hopin' she don't see the gleam in my eyes.

"Carol told me you saved her," Marissa offers. "You saved me." She then adds, almost too quiet for me to hear.

I scoff, "Alright, woman. We ain't up here to talk about our feelings. We needa kill some walkers!"

Both of us are still holding the crossbow, I help her aim it. I put my finger back over her's on the trigger. We follow one of those dead sumbitches with the bow, and we pull the trigger. Right in the head.

"See? It ain't hard. Try it on ya own." I release her hands and step back from her.

She stands there a long time...at least 30 minutes, in position, head cocked to the side, one eye open.

"Marissa, we ain't got all day."

"I know. I know. I'm just nervous with you watching me."

I chortle, "You want me to turn around or somethin'? Not look at'cha?"

"Might help." She lifts her head, and looks at me. She's serious.

"Dear God. Okay, okay." I shake my head, tryin' not to laugh at her, and turn around.

I hear one arrow leave my bow. Then another. Then another.

I start to turn back around, "For Pete's sakes, lady, Don't waste 'em. I'm gonna make you go fetch all-"

I look out into the field and see 3 walkers down. Dead, for real dead. Arrows to their heads.

Marissa is smiling a true, genuine smile, "I did it! Daryl, look!"

I'm impressed, I lean back on my heel. "Well, I knew ya could. Maybe you was meant for a bow instead of a rifle."

"Does this mean I get to keep it?" She saids, holding it up, smiling. Her free hand on her hip.

"No!" I shout, as I reach for it.

She pulls it out of my reach, "Oh, c'mon, Daryl. Let me have it!" Her smile gets bigger.

"Marissa, hell no. That's mine. Next run, I'll get you your own!" I snatch it from her.

"Good grief, don't be such a baby. I was only playing around."

"Well, it's mine. I-" She cuts me off.

"I get it, Daryl, you really should lighten up a little. But, whenever you do get me one, can you get me some arrows with pink on them?" She's serious again.

"You'll get whatever I bring back for ya picky ass."

Her serious face breaks back into a smile, "Kidding, kidding."

She has me laughing again. Dammit.

She takes out another 4 walkers before dusk.

* * *

When Glenn came to relieve us of our watch, we headed on out. I was starvin'. A grown man ain't s'pose to go all afternoon with not so much as a crumb. We started headin' uphill to the prison. I shuffle the crossbow from one should to the other, so I can walk closer to Marissa.

"Ya did good today," I say. I almost put my hand on her shoulder, but I don't.

She's lost in thought, "Hmm? Oh, um, thanks. Thanks for teaching me how to use that thing."

"Ya alright? Ya seem kinda out of it."

"Yeah, just thinking about Gray."

"Yeah." I really don't know what to say.

"He'd have no problems killing biters. He's about a good an aim as you are," she looks to me and smiles, but looks sad at the same time.

"Well, maybe when we get him back for ya, he can teach me a thing or two."

She don't say anything, she just smiles at me. Still sad.

We're almost to the prison, when we hear Glenn yelling, "Guys! Hey!"

We turn around and see an yellow moving truck coming up the drive, stopping at the prison gate. Something's real wrong with this.

"Go get the others, tell 'em to bring their guns!" I tell Marissa. I don't give her time to argue. I take off running back to the guard tower.

When I get there, Glenn is standin' at the prison gate.

"Don't open it." I say.

"No shit," he replies.

"What the fuck do you think's goin' on?"

"No idea."

We stand there with our weapons aimed and ready. We stand there for several minutes. When the back of the truck opens, about 10 people in SWAT armor pour out. They immediately start unloading their guns at us.

"Down!" I yell at Glenn and we hit the dirt.

The others come running not a moment too soon, hiding behind whatever they can. The gunfire continues for what seems like forever, until they're finally down to 3 people. They're out of ammo, we almost are. It takes more than just a few hits to get around those damn SWAT uniforms.

I walk up to the fence, "Get on your knees and put your guns on the ground. Now!" Aiming for their heads, with Glenn and Rick behind me doing the same.

They do.

"What do you want?" Rick demands.

No answer.

"What the fuck do you want!?" He screams again.

One pulls their helmet off. It's a young boy, maybe 17, looks like he's Mexican or somethin'.

"The Governor sent us," he says in a thick accent.

"Why?" Rick asks.

"For the girl. The one the redneck turned loose. The Governor's not done with her." One replies as he removes his helmet. He's older. Maybe early 20s. He has red hair. His skin looks like paper compared to the black of his armor.

I feel my blood boil, "Ya tell your fucking Governor if he wants her to come get her himself, the pussy ass motherfucker!"

I can't restrain myself, I pull Glenn's rifle out of his hands and I shoot that sumbitch dead. His paper white skin, littered with his own blood. The blood looks almost black in the light of dusk. I turn back and look at Marissa. She has one of Rick's pistols firmly gripped in her hands. She looks over at the dead boy and her eyes come back to me. Her eyes become wide and she parts her lips to stay something.

Suddenly I can't see or hear anything. Everything is gone.

* * *

I wake up on my cot. How the hell did I get back inside? The prison is quiet. I wonder where everybody's at. I wonder if they killed them other 2 boys. I sit up and rub my face. I look at my dirty, calloused hands. I sit straight up in the cot for a good minute before I try to get up. My legs feel so heavy. I walk out of the cell and look around. Nobody.

"Hey! Rick!" My voice echoes. "Carol? Glenn?" Nothing but my own echo answers me. "Marissa! Michonne!" Nothing.

"Jesus, where are they?" I say quietly to myself.

The prison is empty. I don't see anyone or anything. Hershel's Bible is gone. The guns. Judith's play pen. The food. I search everywhere. 'What the bloody fuck is goin' on?' I think to myself over and over. No matter which corridor I turn down, I keep ending up back in Cell Block C. I'm startin' to wonder if I am drunk, if I am...I sure as hell don't remember drinkin'. My body is achin'. My head is throbbin'. I feel like I can't breathe, I catch myself on the stairs to the loft. I breathe slow, in and out.

I hear water runnin'. The showers. I run for the showers. I almost slide across the damn floor as I hit the shower area.

"Hey!" I yell, "Who's over there?" I'm standin' on the other side of the tiled wall.

No answer just water running. I should have brought my damn crossbow with me, but come to think of it, I didn't see my bow. "I know somebody's over there, answer me!" I command.

Somebody turns off the water. I hear wet feet pattering against the wet ceramic floor.

"I'm comin' around the wall. Whatever joke y'all are playin' on me, I ain't liking it!" My voice is rough and angry. I step around...

And it's her.

"Daryl, can you get me a towel?" She's standin' there. Naked, just all naked. That's the only thought my brain can process... she's naked. Droplets of water and running down her olive skin. Her usually wavy brown hair makes perfect black ringlets when it's wet.

I turn around as quick as I can register what the fuck is happenin', "Marissa, Jesus! Y'all had me worried. Where is everybody else?"

I feel her hands wet on my shoulders, "You don't want to get me a towel?"

I don't know what the hell is goin' on, "Marissa, what the fuck? Where's the group?"

"Look at me, Daryl. Don't you want to look at me?" Her voice is almost beggin'.

"Er-no." My answer sounds more like a question. I keep my back to her.

"I want to look at you," she says stretching her arms around me, her hands reaching for the buttons on my shirt.

I grab her wrists, hard...but it doesn't seem to bother her. "No. I told you 'bout my daddy, 'bout how he beat my brother'n me. I have scars. I'm ugly."

I feel her face pressing into the back of my shoulder, "You're not ugly to me. I want to see them. I want to kiss your scars." Her breath is hot against my skin as she grazes her lips across my shoulder.

"Marissa, no. I don't have a damn clue what's goin' on. But, I can't-"

Her arms release me.

"Marissa?" I look behind me and she's not there.

"Daryl." Her voice sings...she's in front of me now. Running her hands under my flannel, towards my back. Her fingers softly caressing the flaws on my back.

I grab her elbows and try to stop her hands, "Marissa, I think 'bout ya all the time. All the damn time. But, I can't do this-"

Her finger presses hard against my lips and I'm paralyzed, "Quit being a gentleman, Daryl. You're rough. You don't give a fuck. I love that about you. Now look at me, put your hands on me," she begs with clinched teeth.

She removes her finger from my mouth. I am speechless. Here she is, naked and beggin' me and I'm fightin' her off like she's got the plague or somethin'. There's just somethin' not right about this.

"Don't turn me away. Tell me that you want me because I need this." She asks, taking my right hand and cupping it to her left breast. "I need to forget my pain." She stretches onto her tiptoes and grabs my neck, hard, forcing me to look into face. Her eyes are piercing into me. She grabs my neck again. Harder than I thought she could grab me. She has a fistful of my hair. She forcefully pushes her lips into mine. I feel her tongue trying to pry open my mouth.

I jolt back into what I think is reality when she bites my lip. "Kiss me back," she whispers against my mouth. I can taste my own blood. I can't keep my control for one more second, I slam her into the tile wall. I feel her wet body against mine. I run my hands all over it, never moving my mouth off hers. I feel her breasts, her nipples, her hips, her ass. I grab a handful of her soaking wet hair. I feel her fumblin' with my zipper on my jeans, and she suddenly frees me. I'm still in my flannel with my jeans and boxers around my ankles. My boots and socks are soaked from the shower puddles on the floor. I don't even care. I take my mouth away from her just long enough to grab her legs behind her knees. She kisses my neck, breathing hard. I lift her just a few inches from the floor. She gives me the eyes. "Do it now," she begs.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Daryl**_

I feel sunlight hittin' my face. I try to open my eyes but I can't just yet. I must be exhausted after what happened with Marissa.

_Marissa!_ I force my eyes open. I am back on my cot. My body feels like it's been put through a wringer. I'm layin' on my stomach and I have no shirt on. Jesus.

I see her head resting next to me. Her body lazily propped up against the cot. It was a dream.

I ain't gonna lie. I'm disappointed it was just a dream. But I'm relieved. I don't need things bein' complicated around here. I don't know too much about sex, but I know it'll complicate things in a heartbeat. The images are burned into my memory, though. It felt so real. I could really feel her hands on me. Her mouth on me. Her warmth. Her come. I squeeze my eyes closed tight and tell myself to get that shit outta my head. It's only gonna make shit weird around here.

I groan. I have had hundreds of hangovers in my lifetime, but I ain't never felt like this. I feel like I got a stack of bricks on my head and a knife in my back. I groan again. I open my eyes and I see her big, brown doe eyes looking me. I see her lips moving. I can't hear her over the sound of the pounding of my head. I try'n focus.

"Daryl? Can you hear me?"

I nod, I lick my lips, my mouth is so dry. I try to speak, "Wh-what happened?"

"Hey! He's awake! Daryl's awake!" she calls to the others. She turns back to me and places a cool hand on my cheek, "You were shot in the back by one of those boys Phil-I mean, the Governor, sent."

"What?" I try to get myself into a push-up position so I can sit up, but the pain won't allow me.

"Don't. Stay still. You need to rest. One of those boys shot you, I said." Marissa's face is etched with concern, her cold hand caresses my back.

"How'd the hell did I end up in here, like this?" I'm starting to feel angry as it sinks in that everybody, every-fucking-body saw my scars.

"Glenn and Rick carried you in here. They put you on the table in the cell block. I dug out your bullet. I stitched you up. They brought you in here so you could rest. End of story."

"Who took off my shirt?"

"I-I did." She seems perplexed by the question.

"Fuckin' A! Really? I told you, I never want anybody to see my disfigur'd, ugly body!" I try raisin' up again and just collapse in pain.

Her face scrunches up in anger, "Oh, really? What the fuck, Daryl? I was supposed to leave that bullet in you? Let you get an infection? Bleed out?"

I realize how much of an ass I'm bein', "Look, I know it sounds stupid. But-You don't understand."

"I'm not trying to understand." She says, her voice even. "You're my friend, Daryl. You saved me. I was trying to return the favor. And I did. So...you're welcome." She stands up, rubs her ass that is probably sore for sitting on the concrete all night. I feel bad, just a l'il bit.

"Thanks." I say, reluctantly. Resting my forehead on my arm.

"Just get you some rest, I'll go find you something to eat."

I can tell her feelings are still hurt when she walks outta the cell. I just lay there on my stomach. I try to close my eyes. A glimpse of her in the shower. Drops of water dripping from her naked breasts. My hands grabbing her behind the knees, lifting her up. Her bare legs wrapped around my waist. Her hot breath in my face, in my ear. I open my eyes. Damn that dream and to make it even better, I'm layin' on my hard dick, unable to relieve myself.

Dammit. Just...dammit.

* * *

When Marissa returns, she returns with Rick, Glenn, and Maggie. Maggie is wheeling a wheelchair. Rick has a small bag. Marissa is holding a small plate of food, looks kinda like squirrel and peas. Glenn has a glass of water.

"We went on a run yesterday, we found some antibiotics for you, and we figured this may come in handy," Rick says, placing his hand on the wheelchair. "Couldn't find any bandages, though. Hopefully on our next run."

"I ain't helpless, ya know." I muster, frownin' at the wheelchair.

"We're quite aware, but Daryl Dixon...you are not immortal," Maggie smiles.

"Yeah, man, you had us worried," Glenn throws in. "That wound was pretty sick until Marissa here patched you up."

Marissa takes the water from Glenn and places it along with the food on the small table in the cell. Rick and Glenn help me up and into the wheelchair. I feel like such an ass, I'm 39...not 75. I don't needa damn wheelchair.

"Lemme just eat in here," I say.

"Daryl, c'mon now...everybody's been worried sick..." Rick starts.

"I said I wanna stay in here. At least 'til somebody gets me 'nother shirt." I cross my arms, unwaverin' in my decision.

Everyone sees it on my face. Glenn, Maggie, and Rick quietly leave.

Marissa sits on the cot in front of me with the food.

"Ya ain't feedin' me, woman." I contort my face into the angriest expression I can make. I feel like steam could shoot out my ears.

"Daryl, you can't lift your right arm. You need to save your strength. That bullet went deep." She takes a fork and pries a piece of meat off the bone, and brings it to my lips.

I don't open my mouth. I stare hard to my left, not wantin' to look into her face.

"Good Lord! Daryl, I swear, you are worse than a 2-year-old." She drops the fork on the plate with a 'clang!' She grabs the arm rests of the wheelchair and pulls me closer to her. My knees are touching hers. She leans in close, her face a mere inch from mine. My heart starts thumpin'. Gah, this had better not be another dream. I'm blue ballin' like a motherfucker as it is.

"Daryl. I know you had a bad childhood. No child deserves to be beaten, scarred. You are a strong man. You are a hunter, a fighter, you are braver than I could ever be. You've seen me naked. Naked! I know every time you look at me you don't just see me naked, just like when I look at you, I'm not going to always be seeing your scars. Nobody is seeing just your scars when they look at you. We are your friends. Now man up. Eat. When we are done, you are showering and I will get you a clean shirt." She puts the meat to my mouth and I take it, rolling my eyes.

Shit, if she only knew. Just her saying "naked" makes me think about her naked. Naked. I could slap myself in the head. Then my head wraps around what she just said, "Showering."

* * *

"No way," I hear Glenn object.

I've been sittin' in my cell in this humiliatin' wheelchair listenin' to them argue.

"He needs a shower! He lost a lot of blood, and I need to make sure his bandages don't get soaked until we can find some more. I'm not asking you to wash him...just keep an eye on him and help him out." Marissa points out.

"Does he ever shower?" Glenn laughs. I hear a light slap. "Ow, Maggie!" Glenn whines.

"Behave yourself," Maggie says jokingly.

"You were a nurse. Don't you have experience with junk like that? Sponge baths and whatnot?" Glenn insists.

"I swear!" Marissa says, exasperated.

"He's seen your goodies, only fair you get to see his." Glenn bursts out laughing again.

_Dammit, Glenn. Why do I open my big mouth..._ I think to myself.

I hear another slap, "Ow! God, Maggie!" Glenn whines again.

Footsteps are approaching, I turn around to see Marissa standing in the cell door with a towel and washrag. She doesn't look happy.

"Oh, hell naw." I say, throwing my hands up. "No. No. No."

"Yes. Because you are filthy...and if I'm going to be your _nurse_ until you're well again, I need you to be clean. I had my nose this far (she makes a very small space in between her fingers) from your armpits for 2 hours last night, stitching you up. You. Need. To. Bathe." She sounds like such a mom.

"It's the fuckin' apocalypse, woman! I ain't here to impress nobody!"

I shoulda listened to my grandaddy when he said don't aruge with a woman because you'll always lose. The next thing I know this broad is wheelin' me down to the shower area.

* * *

I flinch under the cold water. I'm at the last shower head, where the handicapped bars are.

"Hold to those bars and do not let go. If you feel faint, let me know and I'll grab the chair real quick." She says taking my wrist to guide my hand to the cold metal bar.

I don't speak. I am too damn mad and too fuckin' embarrassed. I'm still in my boxers, thank God.

She lathers up the washrag around the soap. She steps beside me and runs the rag across the back tops of my shoulders. I notice her clothes are catching the mist of the shower, they start clingin' to her. Her once loose shirt starts clingin' to her curves. The cold water makes her nipples more than visible through her t-shirt. I can feel myself gettin' rock hard. I close my eyes and squeeze the metal bar for dear life.

She washes down the rest of my back, carefully avoidin' the bandages.

"You alright?" She asks, her eyes not leaving my body and she dutifully bends down to wash the back of my calves and feet.

I can't find my voice in this moment, so I just nod. I'm trying to think about walkers. I even think about my father. Anythin' to get this boner to disappear before she notices.

She stands back up, "Turn around. I need to get your front."

I shake my head.

"Daryl, I'm not going to wash you there," she nods her head downward, insinuating my dick.

She grabs my wrists again to guide me around. I try to resist, but I don't want to fall. I don't want her to fall. Last thing I need is for her to fall on me.

I turn around with my ass resting against the handicap rail, holding on with both hands. I'm still hard. _Please don't look down_, I think over and over while she washes my chest.

She's quiet now. The quiet ain't helpin'.

I pipe up, "Are _you_ alright?"

"Yeah, why?" Her eyes meet mine. Her hand is still washing my chest, my arms.

"You're pretty quiet yourself."

"Well, this is...awkward. Being a nurse, I've seen my share of naked men. But, it's been a while...obviously." She tries to force a smile.

My eyes travel down from her smile to her neck to her...her...

That t-shirt was soaked now. I almost had my friend down south settled down, but I could feel my blood startin' to pump again.

Marissa drops the washrag, and leans down to pick it up. And there I am, pokin' out for the world to see.

_Fuck. My._ Life. I think and I almost groan aloud with embarrassment.

"Uh? Daryl?" She asks, her face in disbelief, still looking at Little Dixon.

"I'm sorry!" I immediately say, louder than I thought. I almost let of the rail and realize if I do, I'm going to collapse and die from humiliation.

Her right hand clasps her mouth. She snickers. The snicker turns into a laugh. She drops both the washrag and soap from her left hand. She starts laughin' so hard that she has to catch herself on the handrail. She laughs for what seems like...too damn long. I can feel my ears turning redder'n hell.

"Oh, Daryl!" She says breathless, her hand over her chest. The other hand still holding onto the rail. "I'm flattered, really!" she laughs.

I don't know how to respond. I just stand there. Well, my boner is definitely nonexistent after all that damn laughin'.

"Let's get you dried off before you poke somebody's eye out," she begins to laugh again, reaching for the towel.

"Ha. Ha. Ha." I mock, my face stern with anger and embarrassment.

"I'm sorry. I'm not making fun of you." She tries to straighten her face but her lips are still turned upward into a smile. She takes the towel and brushes it over my chest, still stifling her laughter.

"Yeah, sure ya ain't." I'm gripping the rail so tight I feel like I might jerk the damn thing outta the wall. I feel like I'm on the verge of havin' a damn stroke.

She puts her hand to my face, she is very serious now, "Your face is cherry red! Daryl. Calm down. You're going to overexert yourself. Please, don't be mad. It's okay. I just got a kick out of it. You're a man, it's totally normal." Her eyes hold my gaze for a moment. "Okay?" She runs the towel down my arm.

"Okay," I mutter. Before I even think about what I'm sayin', I've done said it: "Next time maybe you should wear somethin' other than a white t-shirt. Your titties was just all in my damn face, for Pete's sakes. 'Spect me not to look?"

She stops drying my other arm. She looks at me like I got bananas growin' outta my ears.

I could slap myself, _next time_? There ain't gonna be a next time.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Marissa**_

It's going on almost 10 weeks. I've been here 10 weeks, and we still have no plan for what to do about Woodbury and it's "Governor." I'm getting restless. I want my son back. Rick tells me to be patient. He's had Michonne and Glenn scoping out Woodbury a couple of days here and there, trying to get an idea of the Governor's next move. But so far, it's been uneventful. The only comfort I have is knowing my sweet Grayson is still alive. I offer to tag along to the Woodbury stakeouts, but Daryl tells me it's too dangerous. If I saw Gray, I'd try to go to him. Daryl's right.

I took Daryl's stitches out 2 days ago. His wound has turned into yet another scar on his back. It is raised and red, fresh and new. For the past 2 days, he's been unable to keep still. He's either hunting or keeping watch. I've been kind of lonesome without him. He's my best friend here, I guess you could say.

I've been helping Carol with "chores," she likes to call them. You know, laundry and "cooking" (warming up a can of beans and roasting a squirrel on a fire just isn't my idea of "cooking"). I've been helping with Baby Judith. She is such a sweet, happy baby. So innocent. Completely unaware of the world she was born into. Glenn brought some books back from a run last week, so I've been trying to divert Carl's attention from wanting to "contribute" (i.e. killing walkers) to the group to learning about the French Revolution. The kid just isn't interested.

Like I said, I'm getting restless.

* * *

Late one evening, Michonne and Glenn return from their stakeout. They barely have any new information. The Governor is still capturing walkers and using them to his benefit (torturing and killing the living). He still training the residents of Woodbury, including my Gray, to become ruthless killing machines. Michonne also believes the Governor has killed Milton. My heart silently aches. Milton wasn't a bad guy, he really wasn't. He was just looking for his place in this new world.

We're all sitting around the large, multipurpose, metal table in Cell Block C, all of us except for Daryl.

"We need to attack first." Michonne says, her hands folded against her forehead, her elbows resting on the table.

"But that's obviously what he wants," Rick points out. "Or he would have attacked us by now."

"Hershel and I think we should leave. Take our chances elsewhere," Carol says, looking right at me.

"If that is what you all think, then count me out. I have to save my son." My lips press into a hard line.

Everyone glances around to each other.

"I don't want to leave, this is our home," Beth says, quietly.

"Me either!" Carl says, arms crossed. Looking almost too much like his dad.

"You heard what she said that first day...he has 30 or 40 people, maybe more by now, willing to fight!" Carol's voice shakes but gets louder, "We'll all be dead! We need to find refuge elsewhere."

Maggie and Glenn remain quiet, eyes on the table.

Glenn finally speaks up, "We're with Rick. Whatever Rick decides."

I feel my eyes burn with tears, "I stay. No matter what."

"They'll kill you, or worse!" Carol starts. She opens her mouth but I stop her, saying something I thoroughly regret.

"My child is still alive. Alive! As long as he is alive, I stay. I stay until I have him back." I wipe a stray tear from my cheek.

Before I realize what is happening, Carol has rushed over to me, swinging. Maggie tries to grab her, but she hooks Maggie's jaw, hard.

Daryl walks in the midst of all this, a band of dead squirrels and birds around his shoulder, crossbow in tow. He runs over and grabs Carol around the waist, pulling her away before she can touch me.

"Don't rub in the fact my daughter is dead!" Carol is frantic with tears, Daryl lowers her to the floor. Beth rushes over to her, and holds her up, comforting.

"Just what in the hell is goin' on?" His eyes search everybody's face for an answer.

I just sit there, speechless.

"Well?!" Daryl asks again, walking around the table, closer to me.

Rick takes it upon himself, "We were discussing our mode of action against Woodbury. Some of us want to leave and some of us want to stay and prepare for war. Marissa made it clear that she will not leave. Carol tried to make a point we should all hightail it, and harsh words were exchanged. Marissa wants to stay for her son."

I have my facedown on the table, trying not to sob loudly.

"Well, I stay too then," Daryl says. "I saved her, that makes her my problem. That makes gettin' her kid back my problem."

_Problem?_ I think to myself. _I'm his 'Problem'._

* * *

I'm not sure what time of morning it is when I am woke up by Maggie. She's sitting on my cot, her face is worried and sad.

"What is it?" I ask, bolting up.

Her eyes look up to the sky, like she's asking God how to answer me.

"Is it Daryl? Carl? Judith? Is everybody okay?"

Maggie takes my hand, "I think you should come with me."

Maggie guides me out of my cell into the cell block. Everyone is standing around, Rick has his hand over his mouth, his eyes wide. Carol is resting her head on Hershel's shoulder. Glenn, Daryl, Beth, and Carl are all standing in a circle, their eyes beyond worried.

Maggie stands there and holds my hand, she looks towards Michonne who is walking closer to me with something in her hand. Everyone is looking at me. Even Michonne, who is usually expressionless, looks sorrowful.

"When I went out for my watch this morning," Michonne starts, "I found this tied to the fence."

"It must have been too dark for me to see last night on my watch," Glenn adds, sadly.

Michonne hands me something small, wrapped in torn burlap. My heart is pounding so hard. I feel like I could pass out.

Everyone is looking at me. Maggie grips my hand tighter, I look around, back at everyone.

Maggie turns loose of my hand and I slowly unfold the burlap, out falls a finger, a message across the burlap in sticky black ink, "Come home or never see him again."

It's a child's finger.

Grayson's finger.

I'm screaming. Or I think I'm screaming. Someone is screaming. It's me. It's got to be me.

Everyone, everything, disappears from around me. The floor swallows me up, or so it feels like.

* * *

I wake up, covered in sweat. I feel the huge knot on the back of my head. I'm in the oversized button-up shirt I sleep in. It's nighttime. I can see the shadows of the bars of the cell dancing across the wall as candlelight flickers in the cell block.

I wipe my mouth, I feel crust around my lips. I must have thrown up at some point. The whole day is blur. I just know my son is hurt, possibly dead. I slam back down into the cot and sob hysterically.

Nobody checks on me. They must know I need to be alone. All of them have lost someone they love. At that moment, I feel even worse about my words to Carol the night before, no matter how I meant them...they had come out hurtful, and now I understood why.

Hours pass, or what feels like hours, when finally Michonne brings me a bowl of beans and glass of water. Out of everyone in the group, I know the least about Michonne and vice versa.

She plops the bowl down on the small table in the cell. She looks almost as if she is going to walk right out without saying anything, but she turns around.

"We're going to kill him. The Governor." She says, her eyes determined.

I just nod. I can feel my swollen eyes and the heaviness of my sinus cavities from crying. I don't think I could speak if I tried. Michonne exits my cell without another word.

I never touch the food.

I just lay there, on my back, staring at the ceiling. Contemplating. Knowing that yes, Michonne, we will kill him.

I eventually sit up to stretch, not knowing what time it is. I get up and pull on some baggy jeans. I go down to the cafeteria. It's empty. This is where they keep all the supplies. I stuff my pockets with some things and walk back to my cell. I lay on my cot, there in the darkness.

A few hours later, I hear the front entrance open, the squealing of the gears as the door slides.

I hear Hershel, "I'm done with my watch. Who's taking the 3 A.M. watch?" I hear him set his rifle down on the table.

From the sound of the chatter I hear, only Hershel, Rick, and Daryl are awake.

I swing my legs over and pull on my boots. Or Maggie's boots, rather. I exit my cell with the .40 caliber in tow. I stop right outside my cell, leaning against the bars. "I'll take the 3 A.M. watch," I say. There is no enthusiasm nor one trace of emotion in my voice. No one argues with me.

"That's fine," Rick says. "Might do you some good. Take some frustrations out on the walkers." He goes to clap me on the back then stops himself.

I pass by him, Hershel, and Daryl without even acknowledging them. I grab a flashlight, I slide open the entrance and make my way out to the guard tower.

On my way out I hear Rick whisper "Go check on her in 15."

They know I'm close to losing my mind.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Daryl**_

"Go check on her in 15," Rick says and I nod.

Rick heads to his cell with his sleepin' daughter and Carl.

Fifteen minutes is a hell of a long time to wait to check on somebody you're worried 'bout.

"I'm gonna go check on her now," I say to Hershel as I grab my bow.

"You doing that may offend her. Make her feel like she needs a babysitter. Let her be, just a few minutes more," Hershel advises.

I sigh. He's right, though.

I notice as Hershel is sittin' at the table, he's fumblin' with somethin' in his hands.

"Whatcha got there?" I say as I make my way to the table.

As I swing my leg over the chair to sit down, I see his has a large cut across his hand.

"Cut my hand on that damn door, again. Hard to handle crutches and that old, rusty prison door," He chuckles.

"You needa get somethin' on it so it don't get infected. Ya don't needa lose yer hand, too." I wink at the old man.

"Yeah, I believe there's some alcohol left in the cafeteria," he grabs his crutch, about to stand.

I plop a hand on his shoulder, "Nah, I'll get it."

As I make my way down the corridor to the cafeteria, I wonder how many minutes it's been.

I notice somebody's done rummaged through our supplies. The bottle of vodka we had (typically for sterilizin' our wounds...but I can't promise nobody's took swig outta it) is missin'. It was more than half full. I also notice the med bag has been opened and searched through, bottles of Tylenol and Advil scattered everywhere. I run back to the cell block.

"Alcohol's missin', maybe some drugs, too."

Hershel hops up from the table, grabbin' his crutches. "I can probably identify which ones are missing."

We make our way back to the cafeteria and Hershel valuates the med bag.

"Klonopin's missing." He says, eyes somber.

"Who the hell was takin' Klonopin?"

"Carol."

I look down, that's understandable.

"Oxycotin's missing, too. Maggie found some on a run right after I lost my leg."

Our eyes meet briefly. "Hurry to the guard tower," Hershel cautions.

I don't waste a second.

* * *

Thank God the guard tower is downhill from the prison. I run as fast as I can. I make my way up the stairs to the tower, unable to hold my flashlight steady, I almost fall twice. She ain't on the patio. I knock on the tower door, I don't wanna scare her.

"Marissa?" I yell.

No answer. I swing the door open. She's not hard to see in the candlelight because she's still in her white sleep shirt. She's sittin' in the floor, leaned up the against the wall, legs sprawled out. The bottle of vodka planted in between her legs (now more than half empty), the .40 cal sittin' beside in the floor, and the bottles of pills right beside it.

"Marissa?" I ask as I prop my crossbow up against the wall.

"Oh, hey!" She waves, her eyes lookin' tired...empty.

"Hey yourself." I walk over to her and squat down. "Y'alright?"

"Yeah."

"I thought I'd come keep ya company."

"Yeah? I was just thinking about you." She doesn't elaborate.

I take a seat beside her. We sit in silence for a while.

She places her hand on my knee but she's staring straight ahead, "I never told you about my husband. Beau. I never told you about him."

"You told me 'bout how he died," I say, looking at her hand on my leg.

It's like she didn't even hear me, she continues, "Everybody thought we had this perfect marriage."

"You didn't?" I ask, and I don't even notice I'm puttin' my hand on top of hers.

"No. Got married when I was 19, a year after I gave birth to Grayson. Beau went on to the police academy shortly after we married. When he got out, he started working as a deputy and I started nursing school. Graduated when Gray was 3. Things were good at first, it was almost like playing house." She removes her hand from under mine and grabs the bottle of vodka, she unscrews the top and goes to put it to her lips. She's drunk, but her eyes look sober...tired.

She takes a gulp of the vodka, her eyes squint with vexation. She hands me the bottle and I take a sip. I hadn't had liquor in months. It burns goin' down, but it's a good burn.

She lazily wipes her hand across her mouth, "Beau was a good man, but when he became Captain about 6 years ago...he just changed. It was too much for him...faced with rapes, murders, child neglect, and worse. Started drinking all the time. He wasn't some abusive, mean alcoholic...but man, it felt like I had two kids to chase after when he'd drink the way he did. Then he started takin' pills...I mean, the stupid ass doctor would prescribe him stuff he didn't need. Painkillers for migraines he never got. Sleeping pills even though he'd never sleep. He became paranoid and controlling. Our marriage became sexless. I got accused of cheating all of the time, I was cheating with the cardiologist I worked under, I was cheating with the mailman, I was cheating with-" She abruptly stops, scoffs and shakes her head. "It just got ridiculous. I was so unhappy. But nobody could see it. Everyone thought we were a perfect family. And I just went around like nothing was ever wrong. It's a shitty way to go through life," she turns and looks at me. Her brown eyes are gleamin' with tears.

"Yeah," I whisper. I wanna put my hand to her face, but I don't.

"Now, he's gone. So cheers." She takes the vodka and sips from it again. "My son might be gone, too. What do I have left?"

"We don't even know that was his finger."

"We don't know. You're right."

"And he could live without a finger," I try to comfort her.

"He's eleven. If he is alive, he's scared. He's probably wondering why I abandoned him. Why I'm not there to protect him."

"We're gonna get him back for ya, Marissa. I promise."

She just nods, demurral in her eyes. She takes another sip.

I want to stop her drinkin' binge, but I don't wanna upset her. I'm worried if I make her mad, she might go and do somethin' stupid, like run off.

I don't know what to say or do, so the silence occupies the air once again.

I don't know how many minutes, or possibly hours, have passed before she speaks again. She looks about 2 sheets to the wind.

She holds her palms out, looking at them, "Man, my hands are tingly. I feel so...numb," she smiles.

"How many pills did you take?"

"Just 4 of each."

"I don't know how bad that is, Marissa. I'm fuckin' worried. Let's go in, you look tired. Get ya some sleep."

She puts a her cold hand on my arm, and leans up from the wall.

"You are such a good guy, Dixon," she says while squeezing my arm. She runs her hand from my elbow to my shoulder, "Anybody ever told you that?"

"Yeah," I say, feelin' uneasy. I hate the way I love her touchin' me.

"'Yeah'? That's all you have to say about it?"

"What ya want me say?"

"You could return the compliment."

"Fine... you're a nice girl." I smirk.

"Nah, what do you really like about me?" Her words slur a little bit. Her eyes are glazin' over. She sits up from the wall, and scoots around to face me, sittin' indian style.

"Ev-er-y-thing." I sarcastically stretch the word out..

"I know you like me," she smiles, wickedly.

"We need to go in. You need to sleep this off," I say, frowning.

"Oh, gah, Daryl. Loosen up. You're always such a hardass," she places her hand on my thigh, and gently rubs my leg.

"Marissa, don't." I remove her hand.

"Don't be embarrassed, Daryl," she leans in closer to me and whipsers, "I like you too."

"You're drunk, you don't know what you're sayin'."

She props herself up on her hands and knees and climbs over my lap, proppin' herself up on one arm, hoverin' over my knees. "I know what I'm saying...I mean, being a widow and all, I felt guilty about it. I'd never admit that I wanted you." Her facial expression turns into that of epiphantic amusement, "Well, shit...I guess I'm admitting it now," her face breaks into a hysterical laugh.

"Please, just lemme take you in so you can rest," I practically plead with her.

"You're not having fun?"

"Obviously not as much as you," I spit. I place my hands over my face in aggravation.

She shifts herself around so she is straddlin' me at my knees, "Daryl. That hurts my feelings." She makes a fake pouty face. "I want you to have fun."

I remove my hands from my face and realize she's undoin' the buttons on her shirt.

"Marissa, fuckin' Christ, would you just stop?"

"Make me stop," she says, two more buttons until it's all the way undone.

"I told you to stop," I say, firmly.

"Daryl, if you wanted me to stop, you'd stop me." She's smiling, like she's amused. Her shirt is all the way unbuttoned now. I can just barely make out her black bra through the opening of the oversized shirt. She climbs up closer on me, straddlin' my lap while holdin' herself up on her knees. She's holdin' onto my shoulders, "Daryl-"

I grab her arms and look away from her. Her breasts are eye level to me now. I'd be lyin' if I said I didn't wanna reach out and touch 'em.

"Daryl, tell me the truth." She runs her hand through my hair.

"'Bout what?" I say annoyed, still lookin' away from her, swattin' her hand away from my head. I derserve a gold-fuckin'-medal for the self control I'm showin'.

"About your feelings for me."

I sigh, still tryin' to focus away from her. "Marissa, your a part of this group. I care about you as much as I care about Maggie, Beth, and Carol. You're my friend. If you're thinkin' there's anythin' more than friendship goin' on here, then you're wrong."

She lowers herself onto my lap, just our jeans separatin' us. "Oh, I feel a little more than friendship," she says, bemusingly.

"Ya got your damn titties in my face, straddlin' me like a damn pole dancer-" I don't even know what I'm tryin' to say, so I just yell "What the hell ya 'spect? I'm a man, it's a natural reaction!"

She pushes my shoulders back, shovin' me hard into the wall, "Tell me honestly that you don't want me, and I will stop." Her face is serious, for once.

I swallow hard, "I. Don't. Want. You." I look her in the eyes, my lips pressed into a hard line.

She considers this, but I watch her eyes turn into perfect half-moons as her face cracks into another smile. "Liar," she breathes, just inches from my face. She smells like alcohol.

"Mar-" I can't even get her name out before she grabs my face in her hands, and strenuously pulls it to hers. I tell myself not to kiss her back, but my lips do the 'xact opposite. Her tongue tries to coax apart my lips. I oblige, but in my head, I'm thinkin' how wrong this is. Fuck, she knows how to kiss.

My mind's goin' 100 miles a second. I remember about how no woman's ever kissed me like this. I ain't never kissed a woman like this. I ain't never had a sober experience with a woman. I can count the women on one hand, and can't remember none of it. Merle and me usually shared all the trailer park bimbos. I ain't never truly felt wanted, by anybody.

She runs her tongue around the edges of my lips, and pulls her face away from mine. She takes my hand and places it on her breast, "Congratulations, you just hit second base," she giggles. The glazed look in her eyes reminds me how drunk she is, and how wrong I am, but I can't remove my hand. I tell myself to, but it's like my hand ain't even part of my body. She places her hand over mine and presses my fingers down, signalin' for me to squeeze...and I do. Gah, they feel just like I imagined they would. I feel like a damn teenager, gettin' some for the first time, like I could explode right this minute. I gain the power to take my hands from her. I clench my fists, placin' them firmly beside me on the floor.

She leans back down into my neck, kissin' me over from my Adam's apple to my ear lobe. _You got to stop this,_ I keep thinkin' over and over.

"Marissa, stop," I say almost breathlessly. I'm rock hard. I can't believe I'm tellin' her to stop. I have to remind myself again that it's wrong.

She stops plantin' the kisses on my body and sits up, "Why?"

I unclench my fists, placin' my hands on her shoulders, "I've dreamed 'bout this over'n over again. But, I can't do this. Not with you drunk like this."

She smirks at me, as if to say, _Yeah, right._ She grinds herself hard into my lap, her eyes piercin' into mine. I can't hold back and gasp. "You want this, Daryl. I want this." She starts fumblin' with my belt, but never loses eye contact with me.

I grab her hands, "I want it, so fuckin' bad. Not like this, though, I'm tellin' you."

"You're really starting to piss me off," she growls. She shoves me back against the wall, "Quit talking. I need this." She returns her hands to my face, kissin' me. I tangle my fingers in her hair, realizin' I'm defeated. I want her too bad to throw her off of me, even if she is drunk.

She begins to lean backwards, my collar in her hands, pullin' me on top of her. Lookin' at her, so sad and broken. I place my forehead on hers and close my eyes, "I'm not the kinda man who does shit like this, " I whisper.

"Dar-" she begins before her eyes grow wide. She starts chokin', she pushes me off of her and rolls over, pukin' every-fuckin'-where.

Was I about to take advantage of her?

Of this broken girl?

Maybe I ain't changed.


	9. Chapter 9

It's going on 13 weeks now. Marissa is gettin' to a point where we're all afraid she's gonna sneak off and go back to Woodbury for her son. She'll get her fool self killed. Rick and Michonne are workin' on a plan, it ain't the best and we got a lotta kinks to work out; it's worth a shot. We gotta make the Governor believe Marissa's dead. He'll come after Michonne next. Michonne can take care of herself. Marissa needs lookin' after. While he's preoccupied with Michonne, Glenn is gonna get in and get outta Woodbury, hopefully with Grayson. Marissa thinks this is the stupidest damn thing she's ever heard. She's been avoidin' the group, 'specially me.

I walk into her cell, "Michonne found some cans of soup on a run today, if ya hungry."

She's layin' on her cot, lookin' at the ceilin'...too mad to look at me, "Okay."

"Marissa-" I rub a nervous hand 'cross the back of my neck and take a step forward.

"Just go." She don't even look at me.

"You're a part of this family now. We can't let ya run off. You still gotta lot to learn about survivin' out there," I say, tryin' to sound soft.

"I don't need to be watched, like I'm crazy or something. Everytime I turn around it's either you, or Rick, or Maggie, or somebody, watching me like I'm just going to run out into a field of walkers and-"

I interrupt her, "We don't think you're crazy, Marissa! But, your behavior since that night in the guard tower (which she claims not to remember)...you've just been...I dunno...cold. Distant. Nobody knows what to make of it. Most of 'em think you tried killin' ya'self that night." I cross my arms and lean against the cell door.

She scoffs, rolls over facin' the wall, "Just go."

"Fine then...be a hardhead, woman! Just so ya know, I've been the one defendin' ya...they do think you're a little fuckin' crazy!" I slam the cell door closed on my way out.

* * *

I go on a hunt. I needa clear my mind. That woman is just...messin' with my damn head. I don't know what to make of it.

I ain't never understood women. I ain't never had women for friends. I ain't never had no serious relationship. I ain't never had a 'not serious' relationship. I can barely remember my mama. Bein' around the women in the group is the closest I've ever been to the opposite sex.

I see a raccoon and aim for it. I miss it. Damn it. Now all these troubles in my damn head is effectin' my huntin'. I drop my crossbow to my side. I almost want to punch the fuck out of tree or somethin'.

I remember when Carol started hangin' around me all the time, I was damn near scared to death. Maybe I misread her, I remember the look in her eyes when I said, "I don't feel no romantic feelings for you." It was like she wasn't even that surprised. I dunno. When women get too close to me, it fuckin' scares the shit outta me. That night in the guard tower was the first time, the real first time I ever let a woman touch me while I was sober. It's the first semi-quasi sexual experience of my life that I can actually recall. I can remember how her touch felt, how her kiss tasted. I was too fuckin' scared of her to touch her back. She was too fuckin' drunk. She didn't really want me. She doesn't want me. I just needa get that through my thick skull. Daryl Dixon ain't boyfriend material.

* * *

I hunt for a few hours, and I only get 2 squirrels and a rabbit. Not my best. Like I said, my head's messed up. I needa stop worryin' about Marissa.

I stomp through the woods headin' back to the prison when I hear footsteps. Walkers. At least 2 or 3 of them. I run ahead a lil' ways and hide behind a tree. I stand there quietly and wait for the footsteps to get just a bit closer...

I launch out from the tree with my bow just a mere second away from shootin'.

"Please! No!" A frightened, young dark-skinned woman yells with her hands up. A tall, broad black fella accompanies her and I realize these are 2 of the people Rick ran off several weeks ago.

"Whatcha doin' headin' back towards our prison?" I say, crossbow still aimed.

"Just put that thing down, let's talk." The black man says coolly, his hands in the air.

"'Bout what?"

"We just escaped from Woodbury." The girl swallows hard, her eyes never leavin' my arrow.

"And?" I still don't lower my bow.

"We're lost. Been roaming out in these woods a few days looking for the prison. We were hoping your leader would give us another chance," the black man says, his eyes earnest.

"Why should we even give y'all benefit of the doubt?" I ask, slowly lowering my crossbow.

"The Governor...he killed a woman who helped us escape, Andrea. And a few other people who were close to him. He's a very dangerous man," the man says.

"Andrea?" I ask, my heart sinkin'.

"You knew her?" The girl asks, finally lookin' away from bow.

"Yeah. Rick'll want to hear about this." I say, my crossbow completely lowered.

"Rick, is that the leader?" the man asks.

"Yeah, I'm Daryl. Dixon."

The man offers me a shaky hand, "I'm Tyreese. This is Sasha."

* * *

"How the hell could you not tell us?" Rick demands, pacin' the cell block.

"How was I supposed to know she was part of this group? She said she was a part of a group. She never said any names or how many people..." Michonne, her eyes are fierce as ever, burnin' into Rick. She sits at the table, distant...until a small tear runs down her face.

"I think we just need to relax here," Hershel chimes in. "It's obvious Michonne didn't know or she would have told us."

"She was my friend," Michonne whispers. Michonne ain't never called any of us a 'friend.'

Rick, sits across from her at the table, his head in his hands.

"Um, guys? Not to get off subject... but what are we going to do about the two new visitors?" Glenn asks, referring to Tyreese and Sasha, who are currently locked in a cell until we finalize a decision.

Marissa sits back from the group, on the loft stairs, "I guess lock them in a cell and watch their every fucking move."

Carol, standin' in the loft, rolls her eyes, "Oh, good grief! Are you still in a sour mood!? We're just trying to keep you from getting killed."

"You're just trying to keep me from finding my son!" Marissa yells, standin' up and turnin' around to face Carol.

"Could everyone just calm down?" Hershel raises his voice. Hershel never raises his voice.

"Yes," Rick agrees. "Calm the fuck down, now. We are going to test these newcomers."

"How?" Michonne questions.

"They're going to get Glenn into Woodbury, in and out, _safely_. Save Grayson (his eyes burn right into Marissa). Me, Hershel, Michonne, Maggie, Carol, Beth, and Carl will stay here and defend the prison. The Governor is going to come for Marissa and Michonne first." Rick unfolds his plans.

"What 'bout me?" I ask. I ain't tryin' to brag, but...I'm sorta Rick's right hand man since Shane died.

"You are going to take Marissa and get out of here. She can't take care of herself. Too skittish with a gun," Rick looks at her standing on the stairs, her mouth agape. "I ain't trying to offend you, Marissa. But, you have never killed the living before. You have a hard time killing the dead as it is. Daryl can keep you safe."

"This is bullshit! It is my son! I should be here!" Marissa screams, her hands clenched into fists.

"You are too emotionally involved in this. I know from experience when you're emotions run high...you put not just yourself but everybody in danger. You will find a safe place to go. When this is over, we will send Glenn for you both." Rick's face is solemn.

"Rick, this ain't the best plan, man-" I start.

"You all look to me as your leader, I didn't ask for it! I'm looking out for everybody here!" Ricks eyes move from face to face, "If you don't like what rules I apply, then you leave. I'm doing what I think is best here. She's too emotionally involved. And since you feel such a _need_ to protect her, you'd just get yourself killed if you stayed."

I pretend not to hear that last sentence.

"Where the hell we 'spose to go then?" I growl through a tight jaw.

"I think I know the perfect place," Michonne turns to look at me, a smile in her eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Marissa**_

I have never rode on a motorcycle before. I'm am so nervous, I can't take my face out of Daryl's back. These winding Georgia roads and increasing elevations make me nauseous.

"You mind lettin' me breathe?" He yells back to me, over the audacious noise the motorcycle makes.

Realizing I'm holding onto him for dear life, I raise my head from him and loosen my grip, "Sorry!" I murmur.

"I ain't gonna let you fall off," he laughs.

I don't respond. That's easy for him to say, he's not the one with a backpack and a duffel bag, both heavy as hell, strapped to his back. I just rest my cheek onto his back. I am so ready for this trip to be over. Daryl joked as we packed to leave, "Just think of it as a vacation."

A vacation in the world of the walking dead.

* * *

Michonne had found a small mountain town on her travels. Or, well, more or less a place for the overworked and overpaid upper-class to get away from the hustle and bustle of the once busy city of Atlanta. Luxury log cabins, equipped with hot tubs and patios with fire pits. Bistros at ever corner. I had been here before, on a women's retreat with my old church. All I can remember is being bored out of my mind and constantly texting Beau that yes, I was actually at the retreat and not at the cardiologist's beach house in Miami. I sigh at the frustrating memory of it.

We descend from the high elevation of the Blue Ridges and down into the sloping community of Brasstown.

"Tyreese says when he came up c'here with Michonne, he got one of the generator's workin'," Daryl yells back at me. "They put a big Georgia state flag on the one that they fixed." he says, "so keep an eye out for it."

I try to hide it, but I'm smiling at the thought of electricity.

We have enough supplies to last us for 7 days, so whether Glenn comes back for us or not, once our 7 days are up, we're heading back to the prison. Daryl wasn't too keen on leaving, but he admires Rick in such a way, he'd do anything for the man. I can't say we're both not troubled over leaving the prison. Just have to keep faith they can hold their own. They can. And they will. They have to.

Daryl, Tyreese, Michonne, and Glenn made separate and grouped trips up here to Brasstown. Killed off most of the walkers, spent time securing the perimeters with booby traps. It took a good 3 weeks to do, but they did it. It won't last long, though. Herds come and go frequently through the mountains. That's another reason it's unsafe to stay too long.

As soon as we left, Rick sent word to the Governor that Daryl and I were both dead and that he was willing to hand over Michonne for a truce. I wish the group could just come here and live and solitude...but the herds...and wherever the group moves to, as long as he's alive, the Governor will find us.

"I wish we coulda brought Judith and Carl with us," Daryl says again. He's said this several times now.

"I know. But I can't blame Rick. He wants to protect his own children. The Governor might get suspicious if Rick's kids are missing from the scene." I say into his back, wanting to smile at his precious attachment to the kids.

He just nods.

The speed of the motorcycle slows as we take the exit into Brasstown. Despite the dead, truly dead, walker bodies, the few walking dead, and the unnerving desolation...the town is almost welcoming. The cabins are near beautiful in the setting Georgia sun.

"I think I see the cabin with the flag on it," I say, pointing to one of the first cabins we approach.

Daryl stops the motorcycle, putting his feet firmly on the ground. He turns back and smiles at me, "Well, Good God almighty, woman. I told ya it was a vacation!"

It was immaculate. Beautiful. Like something out a of vacation brochure. Looking around us, I already a spot 4 walkers in the distance, "I guess it's as close to a vacation as we're going to get," I agree.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Daryl**_

I can't get over the size of this cabin. We step off my bike and I grab the backpack and duffel bag from Marissa's shoulders.

"Whatcha think?" I ask, slingin' the backpack onto my shoulder and grabbin' my crossbow.

"It's gorgeous here," she looks at me and smiles.

"We'll, let's go see what this sumbitch looks like on the inside."

"'Sumbitch'," Marissa repeats mockingly, shakin' her head.

I get my bow loaded and ready and make Marissa stand behind me as we approach the steps to the porch. She has her.40 cal tucked in the waistband of her jeans. Everythin' seems safe. I sure the fuck hope it is.

We make our way up the steps to the front door. I remove the old, faded blue sheet off the door knob and let us in.

"It's a fuckin' mansion!" I say. Tyreese said it was nice, but this is beyond nice. I ain't never seen such a place. Big, clean...it's incredible. I never saw much outside of the trailer park or the woods, with the exception of Hershel's farm and the prison. Never nothin' like this.

"Ya like it?" I ask Marissa as I set my bow and our bags down on the floor.

"Hell yes, I do. It's like I'm not even living at the end of the world...it's so normal here," she smiles.

"Wonder how many bedrooms its got?"

"I don't know, but you better come on or I'm going to get the master suite," she says teasingly, wigglin' her eyebrows as she scurries upstairs.

I shout after her, "Woman, I'm just glad to have a bed!"

I head upstairs, the hallway is long with at least 6 rooms on each side. "Marissa?"

"In here," I hear her shout from the third room on the left.

I enter the room and its crazy. The bed, the space, the windows.

"It's incredible..." Marissa says, fallin' backwards onto the bed. "Man, Tyreese and Michonne get an A+ for picking this place!"

"I see why ya want this room, it's got a helluva view," I say, walkin' closer to the windows. You can see a few walkers aimlessly shufflin' their way through the empty town.

"It's not the view I was after," Marissa says, getting up off the bed. She nods her head to the right indicatin' another room. "Check out this sweet bathroom."

I step on the tile floor, and man, it's more than a bathroom...I'd gladly live in this bathroom. "Yeah, it's nice." I say.

Marissa sits on the side of the tub and turns the water on and lets it flow over her hand, and her eyes grow big..."Hot water! Oh my God, I don't even know what to do with myself! At my house I had a big garden tub, and I would fill that sucker full everday after work and just relax," her eyes distant with memories. "It's funny, all the stuff you take for granted, huh?"

I nod. "Ya gonna lemme use that shower, right?"

"I guess I could," she smiles. She turns off the water. Suddenly I'm picturin' her in that bathtub...I close my eyes real tight, I gotta quit thinkin' about this girl. I'm just here to protect her.

I open my eyes and Marissa is lookin' at me like I'm nuts.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, um, yeah," I clear my throat. "Just got somethin' in my eye."

* * *

For dinner we heat up two cans of beef stew on the stove and eat out of actual bowls and drink out of actually glasses. This place has it all. Marissa found a wine cellar, but I'm not too keen on her gettin' drunk right now.

I go upstairs to shower and Marissa says she's going to look around, see if she can find anythin' useful to take back to the prison when we leave.

The hot water does feel good. Man, I ain't felt hot water since Hershel's farm, and that was months ago. I want to stay in this damn shower forever, but I know I can't. We're limited on power and hot water. Man, fuck this end of the world shit. It really damn does suck. I turn off the water and step out, the cold tile floor under my feet makes me get goosebumps. I dry off and put me on a ol' t-shirt and my jeans. I realize the cabin is just a lil' too quiet.

"Marissa?" I call out from the hallway.

"I'm in the small bedroom!" I hear her yell 2 doors down.

When I get into the small bedroom (which is ironically probably 'bout 5 or 6 of the prison cells), she's standin' there in a black dress and high heeled shoes.

"What the hell?" I blurt out. Has she gone crazy? I don't know, but damn, that dress is tight and huggin' her in all the right places. It's short and it looks like she has legs for days.

"Whoever owned this place was loaded! Gucci dress and Louboutin shoes!" She squeals.

"Lou who?"

"I know. You're thinking how silly I am. It's petty and stupid, but I couldn't resist trying this stuff on," she says, draggin' more high heels and dresses out of the closet.

I chuckle, "You was 'spose to be lookin' for somethin' useful." I try to laugh this off, but I really think she's gone bat-shit crazy.

"I did find something," she smiles.

"What?"

"This!" She's holdin' up a tuxedo.

"What the fuck? No way, Marissa. You _have_ lost your damn mind."

She walks up to me and presses the suit against me, "It's almost your size."

"Hell naw. Woman, you're mad! Been out in the sun too long, or somethin'!"

"Daryl, I have spent the last 13 weeks losing my mind, crying, and worrying over my son. Can we please just have a little fun? Let's pretend we're rich, we'll get that Merlot out of the cellar, turn some music on that jukebox in the rec room, c'mon!" She clasps her hands together and place them under her chin, like she's beggin'.

"For Pete's sakes..." I grumble, as I snatch the suit out of her hand, "What you gonna ask me to do next? Jump on the beds?"

"If you want to!"

* * *

We're sittin' on the leather couch, and God, it is the most comfortable damn thing my ass has ever come in contact with. I feel like a fuckin' moron in this penguin suit. We're drinkin' the Merlot out of actual wine glasses, too. Feelin' real high class, lemme tell ya.

"Woman, I wanna kill ya for this," I say to Marissa as I hold out my wine glass and she pours me some more.

"Yeah, yeah. Just admit you're having fun."

"Okay, it's nice here. Ya happy?"

"Yes," she smiles one of her cheesy smiles.

She's sittin' on the couch in that too lil' dress, her legs folded underneath her. She's almost unbearable to look at. I try to keep my eyes off of her as much as possible.

She scoots over closer to me, unfoldin' her legs and proppin' her feet up on the coffee table. She sips down the last bit of wine in her glass.

"You look good, Monsieur Dixon," she laughs.

"Yeah, alright." I roll my eyes and set my wine glass down on the side table.

"You do. You clean up nicely. The girls back at the prison would be falling all over themselves if they could see you right now." She leans over and straightens my tie.

"I feel like a fuckin' idiot," I grumble and she smiles at my displeasure, still fumblin' with my tie. I add, "But, ya do look nice. Like ya should be on the front of a magazine." She looks up into my eyes. I get that uncomfortable feelin' wellin' up inside me again.

"You're supposed to be a hardass, remember?" She brings her hand to my face and I flinch.

She quickly draws her hand away, "Why do you do that?" She asks.

I huff, "I done told ya 'bout my daddy."

"I know, but Daryl, I'm not gonna hurt you," she says, soundin' hurt.

"I just don't like anyone touchin' me is all," I say, lookin' away from her.

"You didn't flinch that day I had to shower you," she brings up.

"Well, I was too fuckin' embarrassed to worry about it," I say, crossin' my arms. I have a feelin' this night is gonna end badly.

"And you didn't flinch that night up in the guard-" she stops herself. Busted.

"I thought ya didn't remember that?" I say, turnin' my body so I'm facin' her.

"I, uh, I remember some of it."

I raise my eyebrow in disbelief, "Just some?"

"The memories are hazy...but I have a pretty good idea of what I did to you. And I'm sorry. I would have never done it sober. I felt like I was someone else. I was so wasted. You know I would never do things like that with you." She leans over, resting her arms on her knees.

_I would have never done it sober_. This resounds with me over'n over. This girl will never want Daryl Dixon. I done told myself a hundred times...but to hear her actually say it, cuts deep.

"Yeah, I guess ya wouldn't have ever done it." I say, gettin' up without even lookin' at her.

"Daryl," she grabs my arm, "let's talk about this?"

"They ain't nothin' to talk about," I say firmly as wriggle my arm loose from her grasp. I head upstairs, pullin' off this stupid ass tie and jacket in the process. When I get to the bedroom, I slam the fuckin' door.


	12. Chapter 12

**_Marissa_**

I wake up on my Egyptian cotton sheets I bought at Kohl's ages ago. They're soft as ever. I hear Gordon whining and barking downstairs. I get up and head for the bathroom.

"Gray, let Gordon out." I shout as I pass the bedroom door. I forget that Grayson's at football camp for the next 3 weeks. _Hold on Gordon_ I think to myself.

I stand at the bathroom sink, looking in the mirror, combing through my messy tresses. I'm in my favorite nightie, a daisy yellow lacy piece...barely big enough to cover up the important stuff.

He comes in the bathroom, "Mornin'." He steps over to the commode to relieve himself.

"Morning, babe. I got to go to the supermarket today, need anything?"

"Nah," he sighs, placing himself back into his pj pants. "Might head out to the shop and work on my chopper a bit."

"When you go downstairs, start a pot of coffee and let Gordon out."

"Yeah, yeah." He brushes by me, playfully patting my butt and stops instantly, "Hot damn, baby girl, no panties?" He cups my ass and then runs his hands up my sides. He stands behind me, placing his arms around my waist.

"Wasn't last night enough for you?" I look at him in the mirror and he smiles sheepishly.

"Last night?" he grins.

"Oh, you know, we just fucked for like an hour on the living room floor, didn't even make it to the bed..."

"Oh, don't pretend you didn't love it." He runs his hands up to my breasts and playfully jiggles them around, and I smack them away. "I think we should fuck in every room of the house since Gray's gone," he runs his hands down to my sides and places a few gentle kisses on the back of my neck. He stops, "Except his bedroom, that'd be a little weird."

I laugh, "Is that so?"

"Mhmm," he breaths into my neck as he continues to kiss it. Running his hands under my nightie. I caress my hands over his, I feel the cold metal of his wedding band against my warm flesh.

I turn around to face him, "You're insatiable."

"In here or the bed?" He asks, pulling down the spaghetti straps off my shoulders, planting hot kisses in the trail.

I raise myself up onto the bathroom counter, "Here," I say wrapping my legs around his waist, undoing the drawstring of his pants.

He cups my face in his hands, "I love you, Mrs. Dixon." He blue eyes staring hard into mine.

I lean forward and kiss him feverishly on the lips, "I love you too, Daryl."

* * *

I'm rolling around in the bed, coming out of my dress that I fell asleep in. I sit up in the strange bed, tangled in my dress.

I rub my face with my hands, _Good God, what a dream,_ I think to myself. My heart is still pounding.

"So...what was that all 'bout?" Daryl asks, standing in the doorway of my bedroom, arms folded over his chest. He is shockingly shirtless. Just in his jeans.

I have no clue what I may have said in my sleep. Looking at him, I feel goosebumps all over my body.

I rub my face with my hands again, "Oh shit," I mutter.

"Oh shit?" He repeats.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Well, I got up and came downstairs 'bout an hour ago, figur'd you'd be up soon. I kept hearin' you makin' noises and stuff, so I came to see if ya'lright...figur'd you coulda been havin' a nightmare. But from the sound of it-" He raises his eyebrows, expecting some sort of input from me.

"What?" I sneer. "What? I-I...um...I don't remember my dreams. We had a lot of wine last night and, uh, and..."

"Yeah, okay. I get it...somethin' else you don't want me knowin' about," he says as he begins to walk out.

"Daryl," I start, and he turns back to me. He looks at me, ready for me to spit out whatever I was going to say. I come to terms with the fact things are about to get totally weird when I just come out with it, "I dreamed...I dreamed," I swallow hard and I can feel my cheeks getting red hot... "I dreamed that we were married."

Daryl rolls his eyes and chuckles, "Thas'all?"

"And you were...you...um...you were making love to me." Word vomit. I want to slap myself. I wince as I look up at him.

He swallows hard as all the color rushes from his face.

His face is like none I had ever seen before, he immediately turns around and walks out. I've run this man off by being honest. I must be damn stupid or something. Daryl is a lot of things but a Lothario he is not. In fact, I really think the man is genuinely afraid of me. I flop back down into the bed. I put my arm over my eyes.

"What the fuck did I just do?" I say aloud to myself. My face is still burning from the humiliation I just subjected myself to.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Daryl**_

Huntin' ain't goin' my way today. Hadn't got one damn kill yet. The Georgia sun is hotter'n hell today. I've been out here too damn long, but hell...I just can't go back to cabin after I ran off the way I did. I don't even wanna look at Marissa.

I feel like an ass. Beautiful woman like that, tellin' ya she's fantasizin' about ya, and all you can do is run.

I wipe the sweat off my forehead, and decide it's time to head back to the cabin whether I want to or not. I take out 2 walkers on my way back. Shit, I'm further out in the woods than I thought I was.

The hike is long and hot. I fall one time, slipped on some moist soil and leaves, and nail my head on a tree.

"Motherfucker!" I shout. I get up, dust myself off, and keep on.

"Darylena, didn't I teach ya anythin'?" I hear a voice say. I look around, nobody.

I trudge my way uphill, and see Merle standin' atop the hill. "Merle? That you?!" I shout to him. I must be dreamin'. My brother is dead. Had to put him down myself.

"Baby brother, whatcha out here doin', troublin' ya little head over a woman?" He laughs, crossin' his arms. I notice he has both hands.

"You ain't real," I say. My calves burnin' from the hike, but I continue upward.

"You got some sugar in ya loafers, boy? Gotta nice lookin' woman up at that cabin, all alone, waitin' on ya, and ya afraid to lay a finger on her!" He guffaws.

"Bite me, Romeo," I say, not even lookin' at the man that I am sure is just a hallucination.

"All them women I'd bring home from the bar for us, and shit, you'd have to be so drunk ya couldn't even walk before you'd get near 'em. Wittle Dawyl was skeered," he continues, grinnin'.

"I don't like bein' touched. You know that," I look at him, pointedly. He's still standin' there, smirkin' at me. I look back down at my feet as I make my way more than half the way up the hill.

"Ya can't let ya bad memories of our sorry excuse for a daddy and mama cock block ya forever," he says. "You gotta know when to let go, baby bro...or ya ain't never gonna be happy."

I stop in my tracks, and look at him, the sun's lowerin' right behind him so I can only make out his silhouette, "What do ya care? What do ya know about bein' happy?"

"That's just it, I don't and never'll know anythin' about bein' happy. Ya could be dead tomorrow, Daryl. Just 'member that."

I try to get closer to him, but by the time I reach the top of the hill, he's gone. I can see the cabin just a few yards away.

I take another walker before I even reach the front porch.

* * *

When I come in through the back door, Marissa is sittin' at the kitchen table. She's readin'. She's so lost in what she's readin' that she don't even notice me until she hears the door close, she half jumps outta her skin.

"Oh! Um..er..hey. How'd the hunt go?" She asks, closin' the book.

"Not good. Nothin'. How'd ya know I was huntin'?"

"You're Daryl Dixon and that's what you do," she smiles but it quickly fades.

"Yeah," I set down my bow and make my way to the sink. I grab a glass of water and chug it. When I turn around she's standin' right there. "What?!"

"What'd you do?" She says, pokin' her finger to the gash on my forehead.

"Ouch! Woman! That hurts!" I didn't even know I had so much as a scratch.

"It looks gross, and dirty." She says. She steps around me and grabs a first aid kit out of the cabinet.

"Sit," she says, pointing at the kitchen table.

"Jesus, woman, I'll be alright."

"Daryl, don't argue with me. I'm a nurse. I just can't let you bleed."

I sigh, and go sit at the table. She comes and stands beside me, placin' the kit on the table. She gets some iodine and puts it on a cottonball.

She leans over and dabs it on my head, "You're pretty resilient," she says. The burnin' on my forehead goes away. "Out for hours in the heat, no water, and you fall and cut yourself," she starts.

"Ain't got nothin' to show for it. The walkers 'round here must be munchin' on all the deer."

"It's okay, we have some cans of stew left," she says, unwrappin' some gauze from a roll. She places it on my forehead gently.

"I'm sorry for runnin' off today," I finally muster.

"It's okay. I'm sorry for what I said. I know it probably freaked you out, I was just trying to be honest with you," she looks down into my eyes for a brief second. She quickly looks away, grabbin' some tape and puts it over the gauze. "Good as new," she says. She places all the stuff back into the kit and walks back to the sink to wash her hands.

I feel guilty, for whatever reason, and I blurt it out before I even realize what I'm sayin', "I've had a dream or two 'bout you, too." I put my elbows on the table and bury my face in my hands.

She turns around, towel dryin' her hands, "Oh?"

"I ain't tellin' ya the details, so don't even." I furrow my brows in seriousness.

"Well, that's not very fair."

"Hey, you just told me yer dirty lil' details without so much as a warnin'," I remind her.

"Word vomit," she chuckles, placin' the towel back on the counter.

"What?"

"It's a joke. It's a problem I have, when I get nervous or embarrassed, I just keep talking, usually earning myself more embarrassment."

"I can see that," I smile.

Marissa grabs my glass from the table and refills it for me. Settin' it down, she takes a seat beside me.

"Daryl, I don't want you to be afraid to be around me. I like being with you. You're probably, like, my best friend," she says, lookin' into her water glass. "I don't like being away from you."

Awkward silence.

I sure do wish this water was liquor instead because it would save me from the accountibility of what comes out of my mouth, "I can't stand bein' away from you. When I ain't with you, I'm thinkin' 'bout you. I...I..." I trail off, I just can't say it.

"What?" She says, her brown doe eyes starin' into mine.

"I ain't never said this to a woman, or anybody really...but...I really do care about you."

"I care about you, too," she tenderly smiles.

"Nah, I mean, I _really_, _really_ care about you," I mumble, almost inaudible.

"I have feelings for you, too," she reaches across the table and touches my arm and gives me a gentle smile.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Daryl**_

Showerin' after a long hot day sure does feel great. I watch all the murk, sweat, and dirt run down the drain. I try not to get my newly bandaged forehead too wet. I feel like I got a load off my shoulders after talkin' to Marissa today. I ain't felt this good, well...ever.

I get out and dry off with some towels Marissa found down in the basement where the washer and dryer is, which we don't use 'cause we're tryin' to save the power and hot water. She also found me some red flannel pajama bottoms and a white tank top.

When I get back downstairs, Marissa is sittin' indian style in the floor at the coffee table with a board game. She's almost identical to me, wearin' some green pajama pants and a small blue tank top.

"What ya got now, woman?" I say, unenthusiastically.

"Scrabble," she grins.

"Marissa, c'mon. Ya can probably tell I ain't got the best language skills," I groan.

"I'm bored! There's no Judith to play with, or Carl to read to..." she trails off, lookin' at me like a poor little puppy dog.

"Alright, alright," I throw my hands up in surrender, and sit down on the floor beside her.

"You do know how to play, right?" she grins.

"I think I can figure it out," I say, rollin' my eyes.

"You want to go first?"

"Nah, you go."

"Alright," she places some tiles on the board. They spell _Moment_.

I look at my tiles, and the best I can come up with is _My_.

"See, you're doing good, a Y is worth 8 points!" she beams at me.

"You're just sayin' that because ya already can tell yer gonna beat me," I say.

"Are you a sore loser?"

"No... Well, sometimes," I give her a half-smile.

She just giggles, and makes another word across the board, one I don't even know how to pronounce.

"I think yer cheatin'," I say, playfully pushin' her shoulder.

"I am not," she frowns.

"Oh, lighten up."

"Mr. Hardass is telling _me_ to lighten up," she says with her eyebrows raised high. She playfully pushes me back.

"Yeah, I am." I poke her ribs and she squeals. "Uh oh, somebody ain't ticklish, are they?"

Her eyes grow wide in terror, "Daryl, don't you dare!"

I start ticklin' her ribcage, she falls backwards into the floor, kickin'n screamin'.

Whap! Her fist nails me right in the jaw, I sit up fast. I see red.

"Oh God! Daryl, I am so sorry!" She jumps up on her knees and places her hand on my face. "I didn't mean to, I swear! I go into full ass-kicking mode when I'm being tickled." She rubs her hand on the bruising area.

I don't say anythin', I'm just tryin' to calm down. I'm breathin' hard. Whenever I get hit, I automatically want to hit back.

"I am so sorry," she continues. "I know you were abused and how being hit must make you feel, and I swear, I didn't mean to." She removes her hand, and places her arms around my shoulders. She's huggin' me. Her face is cradled in my neck, "I'm so sorry," she says again. "Please don't be mad at me."

Her soft breath on my neck makes me forget everythin', even my name. I feel a prickle down my spine. I ain't never been this close to her. I sit there, frozen.

She sits back up and puts her hand on my face again, "Are you alright? Please talk to me."

I put my hand over hers and look her in the eyes, I smile. Her eyes are doin' something weird and before I know it she leans in to kiss me. I quickly turn my head and not even a second later I feel her hand drop from my face. I feel her inchin' away from me.

When I look back at her, she's sittin' back from me, just lookin' at me with questions in her eyes.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to-" she pauses. Her bottom lip starts to quiver.

"Look," I finally say, "don't cry. I need to tell you somethin.'"

She bites her bottom lip, and nods, as if she's sayin' t_he stage is all yours_.

"I got my first kiss when I was 14. I was so drunk I don't 'member it. Even at 14. Merle was 18...even though he wouldn't old enough, he could get his hands on any kind alcohol or drug he wanted. Every kiss I've had in the past 21 years has been drunk. Every time I fucked-um, e-I mean, had sex, I was drunk. I ain't no good at this kinda stuff. All I've ever done is get so wasted I can't think or talk or walk, and it's 'wam, bam, thank you ma'am.' That night with you in the guard tower was the first time I ever been...(I feel my ears turnin' red as I say the word) _sexual_ with anybody with me bein' the sober one."

"That's not important to me, Daryl. If we're going to be open and honest about how we feel about each other-"

"I'm just scared that I ain't gonna be a good kisser or a good..." I stop before I say they word.

She rolls her eyes, smilin', "Again, not important. Daryl, you are a good man. You are kind. You have this badass exterior, but you're oatmeal on the inside. Warm and soft. That is what I adore about you."

"Just take all this mooshy stuff slow, alright?"

She nods, "Fine. It's your turn."

I play the word, _Thanks_.

* * *

I lost at Scrabble, big damn surprise there... Marissa and I said our goodnights. She hugged me and I hugged her back, that was the progress our new found..._fondness_ for one 'nother. I was so happy to finally rest my damn head for once today. Emotional struggles aren't my strong point.

I fuckin' love this bed. I'm gonna miss it when we head back to the prison. I'm out as soon as my head hits the pillow.

I get woke up around 4 A.M. by the sound of my bedroom door openin'.

"Daryl?" I hear Marissa's voice call out.

"Huh?" I say, half asleep. "Y'alright?"

I feel my covers shufflin', and a warm body climbs in next to me. "Wh-what are ya doin'?"

"Can I just lay with you?"

I feel her body press up against mine, and I go tense...like I'm waitin' to be shot.

"I thought we was takin' this thing slow?"

"Good Lord, Daryl. I'm fully clothed. I just like being near you. I feel safer."

I feel her backside against my front. I'm not sure what to do.

"Hand," she says.

"What?"

"Give me your hand."

I put my hand to her and she grabs it and uses it to pull the length of my arm around her.

"Goodnight, again." She whispers.

"Mhm," I mutter.

I'm fast asleep again. Before I know it I'm dreamin' 'bout the shower again.


	15. Chapter 15

_**Marissa**_

We only have 2 days left at the cabin. I'm anxious to go back to the prison and see everyone. My hopes are so high that Glenn will show up and tell us everything went to plan. That I get to have my sweet Grayson back, unscathed.

Things with Daryl have been...about the same. Our physical relationship is still at 0. But we've talked, a lot. About everything, including our feelings. From who he was to who he is, it's incredible. The end of the world is supposed to make you hard, tough, even completely unemotional...but Daryl has done quite the opposite.

I'm not going to lie, I was hoping our physical relationship would progress, just a little. Even just a little peck on the lips would suffice. I'm a very affectionate person...and Daryl acts like I have the bubonic plague. The night I climbed in bed with him, he woke up with an erection. When his little friend poked me in the leg, he ran away like he had pissed the bed or something. I'm really going to have to work on this man.

* * *

Daryl's out hunting and I'm raiding the closets, pantry, basement, attic, for any supplies we can take back with us.  
I found a lot of good stuff, variety of clothing, shoes, canned goods, bottled water...

I start working on dinner. It's getting close to sundown and Daryl will be back before I know it. I heat up a cream of mushroom soup...I know it's not much, but it's more than enough to be thankful for. I use the nice dinner plates and glassware. I even put candles on the table. Suddenly I realize how incredibly cheesy and predictable I am turning out to be...but I don't care. There's only 2 days left, after that, I don't know what happens when we get back to the prison. He may not want anyone to know about our...relationship? Can I even call it that?

* * *

"Marissa, I'm back!" I hear Daryl yell from the foyer. "Somethin' smells good," he says as he makes his way into the kitchen. He takes in the candles and fine dinnerware, he looks at me with one eyebrow raised. He's very dirty.

"Just thought we could really enjoy our last days here," I shrug. "What you got there?" I look at the small burlap sack he's carrying.

"Possum," he grins.

"You're on your own with that," I say, wrinkling my nose.

"Figur'd that much, woman. I'm a man, I need meat!" He says, propping his bow up on the wall and putting the possum in the freezer.

"Gross," I shudder at the thought.

"Aw, don't be sucha girl," he snickers, pulling off his poncho I see he has a pretty nasty scratch.

"What happened?!" I jolt to his side, examining his arm.

"Calm down, woman...ran into a sharp branch, it ain't a bite," he says, plopping down at the dinner table.

"Well, I'm cleaning it after dinner," I glare at him and he knows better than to argue.

* * *

Dinner goes by pretty quietly, I broke out another bottle of Merlot, with no intention of getting drunk, but I do need just a little bit of liquid courage.

"What were you dreaming about this morning?" I ask, setting my fork down beside my plate.

Daryl, his mouth full of food, sputters, "Why?"

I try to be serious, but I feel my lips turning upward, "Just curious."

"Oh, gah, Marissa. Men...we get this thing called 'morning wood.'"

"You said my name several times before you woke up."

He looks down at his plate and continues eating, ignoring my confrontation.

"I told you about mine," I remind him.

He drops down his spoon and fork with a _clang_, "I dream about that first time I walked in on you in the shower," he frowns.

"Oh," I ponder this for a second. "Was it that hard to tell me?"

"Yeah, yeah it was." He stares a dagger right through me. I've messed up yet again.

He doesn't speak for the rest of dinner. When he finishes, he goes directly upstairs without a word. This is not how I thought the evening was going to go, at all.


	16. Chapter 16

_**Daryl**_

I wish Marissa would lay off it. Ever since our talk, she has been on this whole damn relationship kick. I told her to take it slow. I ain't never had no relationship. I ain't used to this...this mess.

I get to my room and lay on my bed. I just want to listen to nothin'. No questions, no talkin', just quiet. I'm wore out from huntin' all day, killed 4 walkers in the process...pretty sure 'nother herd's gonna be movin' in soon. Good thing we're leavin' in 2 days. All this thinkin' and talkin' and feelin' and...it's too much. I just close my eyes and listen to the quiet.

I fall asleep.

* * *

"Hey, you."

I wake up to the sound of her voice. Swingin' my legs over and sittin' up on the side of the bed, I scratch my head and turn on the lamp. She's standin' in the doorway with that damn first aid kid. She's just in a bathrobe...her hair's all wet. I like it wet, the brown waves turn into black ringlets. _Oh God, what's this woman doin' to me?_

"What's up?" I ask, tryin' not to seem too happy.

"That scratch, Dixon. I told you I wanted to clean it, it looks nasty," she grimaces.

"Aw, c'mon then," I reply exasperatedly, holdin' my arm out.

She cheerfully strolls over to the bedside and sits beside me, "I'd buy stock at a band-aid company if I could," she jokes. "You're always coming back with blood on you." She opens up the kit, and pulls out a few alcohol wipes. "This might burn," she looks me in the eye.

"I ain't worried 'bout it," I say but as soon as the wipe hits that cut I let out a hiss. "Shit!"

"Oh, big baby," Marissa mocks with a smile on her face, settin' the wipe aside and pulling out some ointment. "Here, this will make it feel better," she smiles, gently rubbin' the medicine on my arm with her fingertip.

"Yeah, yeah," I mock, craning my neck to look at the now clean cut.

"You're welcome, Daryl," she softly smiles.

"Oh, uh, er...thanks. Really, Marissa...thank you," I attempt to be more sincere.

"Let me see how your head is healing," she says, standin' up and leanin' over me. Her robe falls open a little bit as she bends down to pull the gauze off of my forehead. I try not to look but I can't help it...all the blood starts flowin' down south and my palms start sweatin'...I can't take my eyes off of her red bra.

"Um, it's fine...ain't hurtin'. I think I should go to bed now, I'm kinda tired-" I feel panicky.

"You just woke up from a nap," she chuckles, standin' back up straight and realizin' her robe is open. "Oh shit! Um, I-I'm sorry," she blushes, pullin' the robe tighter around her body.

"Yeah," I sigh, my eyes dartin' nervously around.

"Yeah," she repeats.

"Well, I reckon...um, I reckon I'm gonna lay back down," I mutter. She's been climbin' in bed with me for the past couple of days, just to sleep, says I make her feel safe. I just hope she has the intentions of sleepin' in her own bed tonight.

She just stands there, lookin' at me, chewin' her bottom lip. _Shit_.

"Um...goodnight?" I say, it sounds like question.

"Do you want me to go to my room?" she asks, her eyes holding my gaze.

One thing Merle taught me about women, is always try and answer a question with a question, "Do you want to go to your room?" I sound like an idiot.

"No, I don't," she says and suddenly her eyes look different. Something behind them I had never seen before.


End file.
